Doppelgänger
by Kerri B
Summary: What do the legends say about people who see altered reflections in the mirror, or a manifestation of themselves where there shouldn't be? Doppelgangers. A twist a fate, or possibly dark magic, leave Dean and Sam facing unexpcted adversaries. Themselves..
1. Prologue

Title: doppelgänger

Author: Kerri B.

Rating: T: For violence, brief torture, slight innuendo, and language (This rating is for the entire story, so all things listed may not apply to every chapter)

Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I don't own Sam or Dean, nor the CW

Summary: The title says it all. It began as a simple investigation into the death of a retired hunter. But a twist of fate (or was it dark magic?) leaves the Winchester brothers dazed and confused. Much chaos ensues.

Symbols:

-:- character or my narration

Note: Set somewhere during Season 2, nowhere in particular though. Spoilers possible, but they will be vague and nonspecific.

Well, I guess that's it. Let's see how fast this baby can go. ;-)

Prologue

She opened her mouth in a soundless scream, preparing herself for the endless pain she knew was coming. For hours she had been sitting, bloodied in the hard wooden chair her captor had placed her in, hands tied behind her back and feet roped to the chair legs in tight knots, cutting away her circulation as they dug deep into her soft, sensitive flesh. Her eyes were bloodshot and red, and her voice was raw from crying out during the interminable torture she was enduring.

This wasn't what she had in mind for the evening when she had woken up that morning, relaxing on her porch with a newspaper and cup of coffee in hand. The sun had been shining bright, filling the air with brimming illusions of a perfect day.

Lying bastard.

The knife was coming closer, not even a hairbreadth away from her cheekbone as it slid casually across her face with the skill and precision of a person who had done this often. The feeling of the sharp blade piercing the skin just below her right eye was devastating. Her painful shriek echoed around the empty warehouse she had been taken to, before fading away, only to be replaced by more screams of anguish and a harsh laugh coming from her source of the pain.

"Come on sweet heart. Just a little louder."

His efforts were rewarded as the curved blade sunk slowly into her left shoulder, bringing more screams and pleas for mercy. But he only chuckled softly. "If you tell me what I want to know, I promise, it will be quick."

She instantly clamped her mouth shut, biting her bottom lip to try and keep from trembling. She would say nothing. She would never betray them. They were her friends and she swore to herself that she would die for them. It wasn't until now that she realized it might actually come to that.

"Come on Danielle." The man smiled, though his actual face was hidden by the shadows that danced across it. "I know you're not shy."

The knife traced down to her torn jeans and Danielle sucked in her breath as it slowly circled around her knee, lazily prolonging the horror it was about to inflict. "And if you're not shy. . . that must mean that you are being difficult." The man slowly drawled. "Dani. . ."

"It's Danielle." she snapped through her clenched teeth, almost biting off her tongue for engaging with him.

"Danielle." He agreed in a low voice that sent a cold shiver down her spine. "Do you know how much damage this small piece of metal could do if cuts around your kneecap? A stab here, a slice there. . ." he continued as if savoring the idea. "I bet it would hurt. Or maybe. . ." he looked down to her booted feet. "How necessary are toes anyway?"

Danielle tried to control herself as her sobs sent small spasms through her body, her blonde hair, now stained by the dripping crimson liquid, fell over her forehead, casting dark shadows across her face. "G- go to hell you freakin' bastard."

The man burst out laughing and leaned closer to her face till his rank breath overpowered her senses. "Been there, done that. Now please tell me what I want to know. I don't want to hurt you." he raked his gaze down her perfect figure and raised an eyebrow as he reached out, cupping her face in his large hands. "And red really isn't your color."

Danielle tried to pull away from his hand but his grasp was firm and all she could do was stare into his eyes. His horribly dark eyes, glittering evilly though there was no light for them to be reflecting off of.

He gave another bone tingling grin. "You sure? Because I don't have to do this. It'll just be fun."

She shook her head and pursed her lips into a tight drawn line for her answer, attempting to ignore the unmistakable evil crouching in front of her and failing miserably.

"Alright then." His voice was so absent of any emotion or feeling that it felt eerily unnatural and Danielle couldn't help a small flinch giving away that thought as his hand took a small piece of her hair and tucked it behind her bloodied ear. "You should wear your hair back. That way I can see your pretty face while you scream."

He stood back and rifled around in a large duffel bag he had with him, obviously looking for something he kept for just such an occasion all the while humming a small tune that seemed unfamiliar to Danielle. It was soft, strong, and had a melody that pulled you right in. It was beautiful but haunting. . . Sounding of sorrow and a great loss. If she hadn't wanted to cry before, she sure as hell did now. . .

"Ah, here we go." his voice made her jerk back as she realized she hadn't been paying attention and her captor was now leering in front of her with a horrendous looking knife that reminded her of a sawfish as it had a straight blade with sharpened hooks protruding from both sides. "Now tell me," he continued as he leaned closely to her restrained leg enjoying the look of pure panic emanating from his victim. "Where are they? Where are the hunters?"

"I- I don't know what you're talking about you freak."

"Don't lie. That's a sin, and God knows how many you've already committed. You don't want to go to hell do you?" The grin was back and as taunting as ever though his face was yet to be revealed to the girl in the chair. It wasn't time yet.

"I always did like to keep my options open." Danielle spat, surprised at herself for being a complete smart-ass while staring into the face of all the fears and pain she had ever imagined.

He raised his head up and brought it threatening close to her own before dipping it down beside her neck in what could have been interpreted as a nuzzle. His mouth was practically touching her ear as he whispered harshly, his hot breath searing across her neck. "I always did like a girl with spirit. Maybe if you tell me about the hunters. . . I wouldn't have to kill you, and we could do something more. . . pleasurable."

Danielle jerked away as best she could, seething at the suggestion. "Over my cold, dead body."

Another grin. "That can be arranged." he lifted his knife back up and began to flip it between his fingers like a cheerleader with a baton, except that knife was a lot sharper then a baton and he was probably the farthest thing you could get from a cheerleader.

She gritted her teeth tightly and held her breath, awaiting the fearful pain she knew was coming, but. . . nothing. It took a moment to realize she had clenched her eyelids together and slowly peeked from behind her damp lashes to see what the hold up was.

Her captor was merely staring at her before he crouched down one final time and stared into her eyes with a pleading expression on his face. But there was something about his eyes that seemed so damn familiar. . . "Are you sure you won't tell me?"

Now that she thought about it, his voice was strangely familiar too. "W- who are you?"

"You don't recognize me? Too bad." he leaned forward and stared her down, his voice lowering to a deep growl. "'Cause I sure as hell know you."

All Danielle knew then was pain. It came in sharp blinding waves, rolling up and down her body, unable to pinpoint the source. "Oh godཀ" she cried out, horrified at discovering small amounts of blood clawing its way up her throat as she fell into a coughing fit.

"God has nothing to do with it."

Her vision began to spin and her head felt light. . . no, heavy. . . wait. . .

Her mind was working slowly, unable to latch onto anything solid as it flew around in different directions, teasing her and her inability to think clearly.

The man stepped back, standing to his full height, chuckling softly to himself.

It was then that Danielle realized the saw-knife was embedded to the hilt in her abdomen, allowing her precious blood to flow freely from the wound. Mixed between her cries and groans were loud whimpers; the only sounds she could seem to get past her lips.

"Do you want me to take it out?"

Danielle almost nodded her head before remembering that the knife had hooks. It would only do more damage if it was removed. Tears streaked down her face as she realized she was going to die. There was nothing she could do about it.

A hand brushed softly against her cheek. "Oh, Danielle. Don't cry. Just because I'm going to find your friends anyway and you will have died for nothing. . . But hey. At least you're doing the honest thing, right?"

Danielle looked up to face her captor and her eyes widened when she saw the most unexpected thing. "Y- you? Why are you d- doing this?" she wished desperately that she had the use of her hands, but only met the resistance of the thick ropes as her vision darkened and knew that she fading.

"Because. It's my job." And with that statement the man walked over and placed his fingers on her temples, closing his eyes as if in deep concentration.

Danielle cried out as an even sharper pain went driving through her skull like a knife, probing around mercilessly for anything it could find. Her mind flashed back to distant memories. Memories of her childhood. . . her first car. . . her boyfriend. . . her house. . . "Noཀ" she screamed out as a last attempt to stop this freak from finding everything. But to no avail.

Lifting his now buzzing fingers from the lifeless skull in front of him, the man stood, soaking in all the new information Danielle's memories provided, leading him to his next target. "Thank you Dani. And don't worry about the knife. You can keep it."

* * *

Side note: Danielle is a character completely created in my overly active imagination. She will be mentioned on and off in the story but she is - for lack of a more sensitive word- dead. That means all those interested in romance will be severely disappointed, and those who like our boys as loners can completely relax. - Kerri 


	2. Chapter 1

Time is the worst place, so to speak, to get lost in- At least being lost in space kept you busy. - Douglas Adams (Life, the Universe and Everything)

Chapter One: Of pigeons, visions, and wendigos

Day 1: Sunday (can't get any more vague than that. . .) 3:32 pm

Oh for the love of a camera. . .

Sam Winchester couldn't help the laughter explode at the sight of his brother running around in circles like a maniac in the middle of the park. He warned him that getting the roasted peanuts was going to be a bad idea. But did Dean ever listen? Nooo.

And apparently neither did the pigeons.

Dean swung his arms blindly around as the eager birds surrounded him for a sample of the nutty goodness he was hanging onto, with a grip so intense you would have thought it was the very thing keeping him alive. About three of them had precariously perched on his jacket and one was trying to balance itself atop his head, but was failing miserably as its host was quite jumpy and wouldn't quit trying to knock it off.

At last, as if by magic (or perhaps it was a sad realization) Dean released his hold on the precious bag, letting the beloved nuts fall unceremoniously to the ground before they were besieged by the greedy birds and carried off to their various nests for a meal where he was sure the conversation would be revolving around a hunter who lost a fight to a couple poultry.

Sam watched as his brother stomped indignantly toward him, taking an occasional peek over his shoulder as if worried he might still be followed by the flying monsters from hell. Sticking out his hand in a fist, Sam did his best imitation of an on spot reporter. "We're here with Dean Winchester. A renowned hunter and skilled fighter. Dean, how does it feel to have lost such an important battle to just a few hungry birds?"

Dean smacked his brother on the back of the head with irritation. "Shut up Geek. Besides, there were more than a few. They were all over me." he shuddered back at the thought of all those black eyed, big beaked creatures scrambling over him.

"Aw, cheer up bro." Sam continued teasingly, followed by a pointed wink. "I'm sure they were all female birds."

"Ha, freakin' ha." Dean commented dryly. "At least they know a good catch when they see one."

"Sorry to disappoint. But I'm pretty sure they only wanted the peanuts."

"Gold digging bitches."

"Well, what did I tell you about spoiling the gals on the first date?" Sam clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. "You never get anywhere in the relationship."

Dean followed in suit with an over exaggerated sigh. "I guess it just wasn't meant to be."

Both brothers doubled up laughing before finally giving up on their charade and sitting down purposely on an empty bench near the lake, far enough away from the rest of the populated park so they would have some privacy. "Alright Sammy, you got me out here. Now explain why."

Dean wasn't a man prone to trust. Too many times in his past had he been hurt by the ones closest to him, and believing in people just wasn't in his nature; even if it was his little brother.

Sam pulled a crumpled piece of newspaper out of his pocket and handed it to Dean. "Read it."

Dean stared at Sam as if he had just gone insane. "You dragged me out here so I could _read_ something!"

"Fine." Sam huffed and grabbed the paper back, grumbling under his breath. "Like you couldn't have used the fresh air anyway."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Sam." Dean's tone was low and threatening.

"Nothing Dean! Now would you just pay attention." Without waiting for a response, Sam dived into his explanation as if he had been preparing for it for a week. "We're here," he pointed meaningfully at the bench they were sitting on. "Because a woman went missing, and this was the last place anybody said they saw her."

"And?" There was no way in hell Sam was suggesting they start looking into lost friggin' not found cases. He was pretty sure that last he checked, they only did supernatural gigs. Just to be sure, he checked one last time. Mmhm. Only supernatural.

"And she turned up yesterday."

Dean scratched his chin and twitched his eyebrows. "You know. I think you're right Sam. This is definitely something we need to look into. A woman is missing and then turns up again? That is strange. Maybe we should even call Ash and see if he can detect some sort of pattern with this so we can track down the sonuvabitch who is behind the atrocity."

Sam glared angrily at his brother's cruel sarcasm but continued anyway. "She's dead Dean. From the reports, it looks like she was tortured until the pervert decided it was time to end the fun and skewered her with a freaky hooked knife."

Dean cringed slightly as the visualization entered his mind, and it was sickening. "I still don't see what this has to do with us."

Sam once again offered the crumpled paper to his brother. "Recognize her?"

Dean stared intently at the nauseating picture and found it hard to place her face with any of his memories. He handed it back. "'Fraid it's not ringing any bells here."

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Dean, she's a hunter. Danielle, remember?"

Dean's eyes then lit up in recognition. "Oh yeah, Danielle. Good times." he smiled to himself at old memories of Danielle and himself competing over pranks the same way he and his brother had done on many an occasion- Danielle always won- before a dark and withering gaze crossed his features. "She's gone?"

"Yeah." Sam confirmed quietly.

"So what are we supposed to be looking into here?"

"There were ten burn marks lining across her temple and jawline."

"Uh-huh. So? You said 'torture' right? It makes sense that the creep might. . . burn her." Dean stumbled over his words as the picture flashed back in his mind and he imagined the pain that woman went through. He absently rubbed his left shoulder where there was still a small scar from his run in with Papa Bender and a hot poker. "It happens all the time."

"Yeah." Sam agreed, but Dean could see that more was coming. "But do they normally do it with their fingers?"

"Huh?" Dean wrinkled his nose in confusion and grabbed back the paper to take a closer look. Sure enough, ten finger-sized burn marks were framing her face just under her hairline. "Fingerprints?"

"Just pieces. They didn't find a whole print."

"Where did they find her?"

"An empty warehouse."

"Huh." Dean repeated as he ran his hand through his hair in a thoughtful gesture. "So what do you think we're up against here?"

"Honestly Dean, I-" Sam's voice broke off as his gaze was pulled forward and he stared momentarily at the lake sitting peacefully in front of them, though it wasn't the body of water he was looking at, before blinking and shaking his head. "Uh. . . I really don't know." Again he raised his gaze as if searching for something he had lost.

"Sam?" Dean hated it when his brother was quiet. Because if he wasn't bitching about something or sleeping, it meant that something was bothering him. "Sam what's wrong?"

Sam made one last sweep before glancing back at his concerned brother. "Nothing. Sorry. I just. . ."

Another thing Dean hated was when he left his sentences hanging without an explanation. "Just what?" he prodded.

"I just thought I saw something. . ." Sam rubbed his forehead with his right hand and took a deep breath, walking over to stand next to the lake, trying to calm his already frayed nerves. Dean and him had been on cases practically non stop for a month now and it didn't take a genius to see the toll it was taking out of them. But it wasn't just that. It would never be just that. Ever since Dad. . .

No. He wouldn't think about that. He had to stay in the here and now. He had to concentrate on the case. Danielle deserved that much. She had been a great ally, a friend. . .

Why did his head hurt so damn much? Sam lifted a hand up to try and release the pressure building, but to no avail as flashes of white danced above him. Wait. . . stars? Planets, a rocket and. . . music. God, the sound was so comforting, like an angel's voice echoing in his head. Why was he laying down?

He tried to speak but all that came out was garbled gibberish and a soft whimper.

"Sh, Sammy, it's ok. You can sleep now."

Sleep? He could only stare ahead of himself, glancing a white ceiling and the face of somebody he knew he should be happy to see. Once again he tried to communicate with the woman standing above him but realized it would do no good as she smiled down at him.

"Sammy calm down." she said soothingly while lowering her hand to stroke his hair. "Mommy's here. You're safe."

And he believed her. His eyelids were so heavy that he couldn't help it. Maybe a little nap wouldn't hurt. . .

"Samuel."

Sam ripped his eyes opened as he felt a new presence in the room, standing above him. Who was this person and why was he here? He shouldn't be here. That much Sam knew.

"Samuel." the stranger repeated again, the words sending small shivers down his back.

"Sam!"

Sam recognized that voice. Mom?

"Sam!"

The air seemed to be leaving the room and he reached his hand up to grab at his constricting throat. Why couldn't he breathe? Smoke surrounded him and he could see the flames of the fire licking across the ceiling he had recently been fixated with. His lungs gasped painfully with the need for oxygen, protesting as he made wild gasps for the precious air and only received a deep gulp of water instead.

'Wait. . .' his mind was slowly processing this new information. 'Water?'

"Sammy!"

'Was that Dean? What's he doing here?' Sam's mind was sluggishly moving on to a conclusion as it hit him. Water!

* * *

3:40pm

A lone, shadowy figure leaned heavily against a single oak, staring at the reflection-less waters of the lake, and ran his fingers through his hair with frustration, ignoring the feeling of crusted blood mingling with his calloused hands.

A hunt.

It should have been so simple.

But instead. . .

Why did he get the feeling that he was being watched?

His thoughts were caught as he heard a loud 'splash' and saw the large ripples on the lake churning wildly, indicating that some idiot fell into the water.

'Good' he thought morbidly. Maybe if he was lucky, the fool would drown, choking on the bitter fluid as it filled up in his lungs, drowning him slowly. But instead a panicked voice called out a name. A familiar name- and dove in after the body. Damn. Well, if this wasn't going to be any fun, he would have to go make his own. . .

Shaking his head, the man pushed off the mossy tree trunk and walked off toward the not too far off woods, letting the bright afternoon sun warm his body. Not that he cared. He had a job to do. And he would be damned if he didn't finish it.

And so he crossed over to the vacant forest area and, had anybody been looking, they would have noticed something odd about the young man. He was a tall, reasonably good looking dark brunet, and besides the thin layer of blood spread across his face, could pass for a perfectly normal college student perhaps. . . But if you paid special attention to the small things, the little, almost unimportant things, you might have seen that wherever he went, wherever he tread to, wherever his steps fell, there was no shadow to follow. . .

* * *

3:40pm

Dean had been staring down at the picture Sam had given him of Danielle when he heard the all too familiar, painful moan coming from somewhere in front of him, allowing him to jerk his head up in time to see his brother collapse into the watery depths of the lake.

"Sammy!"

Without a second thought to go on, Dean jumped up from the bench and dove into the surprisingly icy cold water, following his brother's sinking form under the surface. His arms were outstretched to help find Sam as his strong legs propelled him downwards at a rapid rate.

'Oh god Sam. Where are you?'

Unable to see anything under the murky waters, Dean relied on touch alone to try and locate his probably drowning brother. Panic gripped him, ignoring his pitiful attempts to push it away and filled his mind with thoughts of failure. Of not reaching his brother in time.

'No!'

Dean cried out in his mind as he continued the search, praying to anybody that would listen, to help him find Sam. He had only taken his eyes off of him for minute. A mere second that could have just cost his brother his life. Cursing himself for being so careless, for not paying close attention, Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the strangely salty-ish wasters of the lake before opening them one final time.

It was then that he could see it. Something that made him practically choke on the freezing cold water that oppressed him. Sam's unmoving form beginning to float up toward the surface, his face downcast and set in a painful grimace.

'Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.'

Without needing another opening, Dean gave two powerful strokes to reach his frighteningly still brother, and grab him around the waist. As soon as he knew that his grip would hold, he kicked his legs rapidly, hoping that he would make it to the surface in time; before their oxygen would give out.

For all he knew, Sam's was already gone.

No. He wouldn't think like that. Sam was going to be okay. He got to him in time. He saved him.

With one final push of resolve, Dean burst through the opposing water, reaching the surface just as his air gave out. . .

* * *

3:43pm

Sam ripped open his eyes just as his head emerged above the surface of the suspiciously greenish waters of the lake, with a strong arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him back over to the shoreline.

"Sam, stop struggling dammit. You're heavy enough without you trying to add the extra resistance." Dean chided as he fought to stay above water with Sam in tow, though on the inside he was doing flips of excitement that Sam was awake. After several prolonged seconds of paddling, the feeling of solid ground beneath him was a welcome relief as he placed his brother on the acorn filled park grass, breathing heavily from the exertion.

Sam lay stunned on the ground, trying to catch his watered down breath and push his dripping bangs away from his eyes before looking over to Dean. "W- what happened? Are you okay?"

Dean couldn't help but laugh at the backwardness of the question. "Am _I _okay? Dude, you were the one that said he was seeing things before taking a swan dive into the lake."

"Oh." was the only thing that made sense in Sam's mind as he tried to think back. He didn't remember falling in the water or anything between talking to Dean and nearly drowning in the now painfully peaceful lake.

"Are you boys okay?"

Both brothers spun around at the voice to see an older man and a teenager boy running towards them with a frisbee in hand and a dog close behind.

Dean was the first to react to the unexpected concern thrown their way. "Uh, yeah. Jr. here just forgot we had a perfectly good shower back at the motel." he ignored the death glare sent his way by 'jr.' and continued. "So thanks, but we're cool."

The older man looked skeptical at the explanation but wasn't about to push if the two strangers didn't want help. His son however was not so willing to take it and leave. "Dude, that was so awesome!" he pointed at Sam. "You were totally zoning out there, man. And then you." he shifted his finger over to Dean. "You just like jumped in right after him!" he then retracted his finger but replaced it with both arms waving animatedly around. "You two were under there for like a super long time!"

Before anyone could summon up a reply, the boy stuck his hand out toward the brothers. "I'm Colin. And this is Todd." His thumb jutted out to point at the man next to him before a loud bark sounded behind him and he laughed as he leaned down to give his yellow lab a good rub down. "Oh, and this is Wendigo."

Sam chuckled, noting the jet black hair and pierced ears of the boy standing in front of him. "Wendigo huh?"

"Yeah." Colin laughed along. "I read that the wendigo was like some sort of a creature that ate people, so I thought it would be cool to name my dog after something so ferocious. Fat lot of good that did since she's just a big baby."

"Huh." Dean stood and took Colin's hand. "I'm Dean, and this Sam." he leaned conspiratorially in the younger's direction. "But everybody calls him Geek, so don't hold back if it feels right."

"Dean." Sam's voice lowered to a threatening growl but Dean purposely ignored it in favor of the now laughing Colin. Despite the kid's rebel/ gothic look, he could tell from the impossibly blue eyes that he was bright, intelligent, and most probably lonely by the way he seemed so eager to make friends with the two weirdos who thought it would be fun to take a swim in the bacteria infested lake.

"So, where did you read about wendigos? Not exactly the most common book you'll find on the shelf."

Colin nodded his head in agreement. "That's for sure. But I didn't have to look hard. You see, my sis-"

"Colin!"

Todd's voice was sharp and demanding attention as he was practically glaring at the now named brothers. "I'm sure you've bothered these two gentlemen quite enough for one afternoon. I think it's about time that we head home."

Dean looked carefully at the man for the first real time, sizing him up and placing his obvious qualities into categories to be filed away for later. It was something he had always done and dad always encouraged this. 'Pay close attention to first impressions. They are most likely the right one.' And Dean was definitely not liking what he was seeing.

Apparently Sam didn't either. "He's not bothering us." he stated firmly to Todd. "It's been a while since I've had a decent discussion about books anyhow." he gave a pointed side glance over at Dean's direction who promptly rolled his eyes.

"Well if you're looking for a decent conversation about books, I suggest you go talk to a librarian and not my son." Todd arrogantly pushed. "Besides," he put hand on Colin's shoulder who looked painfully defeated in his attempt to be friendly. "I'm sure you wouldn't share any interest in his preferred genres anyway."

"I wouldn't know about that." Dean had to admire Sam's stubbornness in a situation like this. Most people would probably have gotten Todd's hint and kept their distance, but not his little brother. Always was one to go head first into a challenge before even knowing what it was. His thoughts were then pulled back as Sam continued with: "I read a pretty wide variety." then he looked down and stared Colin in the eye. "You don't read those sappy chick flick books, right?"

Colin couldn't help but burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of the question before straitening out and shaking his head with vigor. "No way."

"Then I think we're good." Sam declared happily. 'Almost triumphantly' Dean thought and almost swore that he saw a smirk gracing his little bro's face.

Todd stiffened before tightening his grasp on Colin's shoulder. "Come on Colin. We're going home." he turned to head off, but Colin gave a small protest.

"Wait. Can I just have a sec.?"

Todd looked down at the boy and swore that he had the most puppy dog eyes ever and groaned. That made them all the more effective when pleading. He glanced down at his watch. "You have until I get the football." And with that he turned on his heel and stomped off quickly, in an attempt to cut the conversation as short as possible.

Colin grinned and faced the two brothers. "I like you guys." he announced suddenly before clarifying the statement. "As friends. I prefer girls when it comes to relationships I swear." he cocked his head to the side with a mischievous grin plastered on his face. "They're better kissers."

Dean laughed and had to admit that he liked this kid. "Amen to that."

"Cool." Colin peeked around his shoulder to check where Todd was before continuing. "I'll be at the library tomorrow at three if you guys want to talk some more. I could show you some great books if you're interested."

A sharp whistle interrupted him as his dad headed to his car, tapping his watch impatiently.

"So, you guys don't have to come. Just if you want to." Without waiting for a reply, Colin dashed away the same direction Todd went, with Wendigo chasing close behind, barking happily as she raced her master to their destination.

Sam watched closely as Colin jumped into the passenger side of his dad's car as they drove away, leaving a small trail of burnt rubber on the innocent gravel below, before returning his attention back to Dean, who he was sure was ready to go back to the motel by now and get a shower.

"Well?"

Sam raised his eyebrows at the question, wondering if he missed something that should have been obvious. Going through the conversation with Colin and Todd, he could find nothing that seemed strange or out of place that he should have to answer for. With a loud sigh, he signified his defeat. "Well what Dean?"

In contrast to his brother's raised eyebrows, Dean lowered his till he was sure he got his point across. "When are you going to tell me what you saw? You know, before you decided to get intimate with the water."

Sam almost rolled his eyes, but thought better of it when he saw Dean's serious expression. But there was something more. 'Well, of course. You don't just tell somebody that you're seeing things that shouldn't be there, nearly drown in a lake and then expect him to act like nothing happened. . .' But what should he tell him? He wasn't even sure if he, himself knew exactly what happened a minute ago. It all happened so fast and everything seemed so jumbled in his mind.

"Sam?" Dean took his brothers silence as a way to try and avoid the subject but swore that he wouldn't just let this slide by. "Sam, did you have a vision?"

Sam tried to do that ducking thing with his head that he always did when he was kid; when he was either lying or unsure what the answer was, but Dean would have none of it and moved around so he could stare him down. "Come on man. Talk to me. The vision, was it bad?"

"I'm not sure that it was a vision." Sam answered quietly.

"Then what was it?"

"I don't know." Sam continued truthfully. "I think it was more of a. . . more of a flashback, I guess."

Dean scrunched his previously glaring eyebrows together in a tight line. "A flashback? A flashback of what?"

Sam turned his head away and began walking back down the path they had trodden earlier to get here, but again, Dean wasn't to be deterred. "Sam, don't you dare walk away from me man. We're not done talking about this."

"Uh-uh." Sam shook his head. "You might not be done talking about this, Dean. But I am."

"Sam!"

Sam spun around. "It's nothing! I wish you would just quit bugging me about this! I just. . . " his voice dropped off as he stared at something past Dean's shoulder. ". . .tripped."

Dean looked over his shoulder but saw nothing. "Sam? You with me man?"

Sam's attention snapped back to his brother. "Yes. I'm freaking alright. Now would you just hurry up so we can go. I smell like a sewer." he gave a death glare at the suddenly peaceful waters glistening to his right.

"Fine." Dean pulled his keys from his pocket and trudged over to meet the younger on the way to the car. "But you better have an explanation for me when we get there, cause you're not getting a shower till I get the full play-by-play."

Sam nodded his head as he promptly hid a hand behind his back, carefully entwining two of his fingers while answering. "Sure Dean. Whatever you say."

"Damn straight." Dean called back. "I'm the big brother, dude. What I say, goes."

* * *

Ending Author Notes: If you were confused at all with Sam's vision/ flashback, I guess I should clarify that he was seeing things from his (the baby's) point of view. Okay, I know you're all rolling your eyes and saying: An idiot could've gotten that! Well for those that did, kudos to you. And those that didn't, that's what these incredibly awesome notes are for!

I'm getting _most_ of my info for doppelgängers off of the wikipedia, so no strangling if I get something wrong. wags finger forcefully lol I'm also reserving some creative liberties with them.

Extra note: Yes, Colin and Todd are two more characters from my imagination. They will play parts in the story but won't get overly involved with Sam or Dean, I think.

Extra, Extra note: I'm not sure what you thought, but it seemed to me that the dialogue in the beginning, between Sam and Dean was a bit off and uncharacteristic. I'll try to fix that unfortunate problem in the future and get their conversations to flow a little better. Thanks for reading.

I'm not even going to bother adding a note here, I'm just gonna say it straight. SHAMELESS ADVERTISING! Enjoying this story? If You haven't already, check out my older sis' fic: Why We Fight. Need a good laugh? 'My Ghost and I' is sure to brighten you day. SHAMELESS ADVERTISING OVER!

Also, remember that every time you review: A rabbit gets it's lucky foot back. - Kerri


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Just want to say a big thank you to Poaetpainter for being my first and only reviewer for this story so far. Also, I don't normally write as dark as my prologue seemed. Just so you know. ;-)

Chapter Two: Flaming Nightmares

Unknown Time

". . . and if I die before I wake, I pray my soul the Lord to take. Amen."

"Very good honey." The mother bent down to kiss her son's forehead as she tucked him in.

"Mom wait." The boy wriggled out of her grasp. "I need to tell him a bedtime story." He pointed his finger out the door and into his little brother's room. "He won't be able to sleep if I don't."

The mother looked down into her son's eyes and smiled. They were begging her to say yes. "Okay."

That was all he needed. He jumped out of his bed and tiptoed down the hall so that he wouldn't disturb his dad. The nursery door was open and he could hear the small lullaby tune humming from the mobile over the crib. A small happy cooing announced that his little brother was indeed still awake.

"Hi Sammy."

* * *

". . . And so the knight fought bravely against the fiery dragon, keeping the beautiful maiden safe from the monster's clutches. But the dragon was too strong and Sir Sammy was getting really tired. With a big roar," Dean told his story with various handmotions and lots of facial expressions that were sure to make Sammy laugh. "With a big roar, the dragon knocked Sir Sammy to the ground and the brave knight couldn't get up. But the maiden was very smart. She knew that Sir Sammy had an older brother that protected another kingdom not so far away, so she ran to go find him and brought him back to help his brother. Just as the dragon was about to eat Sir Sammy, Sir Dean jumped in the way and smote - smote means killed by the way." Dean explained to Sam. 

Sam just giggled.

Dean smiled and continued his story with fervor. "So Sir Dean who is the coolest knight ever jumped in the way and killed the dragon while saying: 'That's what happens when you mess with my brother.'" Dean tickled Sam to get another laugh. "After that, the two brothers took the pretty maiden back to her village where there was a big party because they were heroes that went from town to town slaying all kinds of evil. Wherever they went, people loved them because they saved lives almost everyday and even though they never got paid for it, Sir Sammy and Sir Dean were very happy because they were together."

Dean watched as Sam's eyelids began to droop and the elder ran his hand over his brother's head affectionately. "Maybe we can be heroes when we're older too. We can go all over and save people from monsters and stuff. Everybody would like us because we're so nice and help them when they're in trouble."

Sam gurgled quietly.

"We'll be the best brothers ever." Dean swore solemnly. "I'll be just like Sir Dean to make sure you never get hurt."

"Dean, honey, you need to go to bed now." Mary had been watching as her eldest son told the story with conviction and smiled as she heard him making plans with Sam for their future. She knew in her heart that there was a special bond between the two of them. . .

"Okay mommy." Dean sighed and ruffled Sam's thin hair one last time. "Goodnight Sammy."

Sam continued to play with his toes while babbling to himself.

* * *

Later Unknown Time

The malicious glare of the crackling flames cast dark shadows on the nursery's wall as it crept around the room, up the wall and onto the ceiling. The roar of the hungry beast overrode the wailing cries of the six month old infant as it stared helplessly at his mother being pinned above him by the relentless fire that began only a second ago.

It was then that a familiar voice called from the hallway, trying to gain access in, only to be shot back by the billowing flames that had increased by every moment that passed. "Maryཀ"

The growing cries of the child within only strengthened the father's resolve to find a way through the emblazoned inferno, but was stopped by another panicked cry behind him. "Daddy? What's happening?"

The unmasked fear in the boy's face and widened eyes told the elder man all he needed to know. His son needed him. Needed his mother. "Dean. I want you to run outside and wait for me. Don't look back."

With an obedience any father would be proud of, the boy nodded in understanding and rushed down the stairs as if all of Hell's minions were at his tail. But as any kid at his age, curiosity got the better of him and he peeked back over his shoulder in a gravely fascinated manner as his dad took a deep breath and lunged forcefully through the opposing heat trying to push him back.

"Dadཀ" he cried out at the unexpected turn of events and turned to continue running down the steep stairs, pushing the front door open. Running out into the clear, open air, he took in deep lung fulls of oxygen as neighbors came streaming from their homes to watch the outcome of the catastrophe.

Minutes passed as painful agony to the shivering child outside as he waited faithfully for his father to come out like he promised.

* * *

The firemen finally won the battle against the oddly persistent fire and went inside for the final sweep of the home to see if their were any survivors that didn't make it out. Taking careful precautions to not touch anything lest they wanted the unstable structure to come crashing down on their heads, they walked through the kitchen, livingroom, hallways, stairs, master bedroom, a child's room, and finally, the place where the fire began.

Dean watched as the five men came out empty handed and one trudged slowly over to the trembling youth. "Son. . . I'm sorry."

Tears glistened in the innocent eyes as what the man was trying to say finally hit him, but he wouldn't believe it. He just couldn't. "Where's daddy? He promised he'd be here."

The man tried to ignore the question with one of his own. "Do you have any family close by? Friends? Relatives?"

Dean shook his head pitifully, his bottom lip trembling under the shock. "Just mommy and daddy." he then cocked his head to the side as if just remembering something. "And Sammy." he whispered quietly.

The fireman jerked at the last additive. "I'm sorry, what? You're mom, dad and who?"

Dean began to cry as the stress set in. "Sammy." he almost wailed. "My baby brother."

The boy was moved off to the side as the man walked off in a hurry to talk to the other men that were previously in the building a minute ago. He could only make out pieces of the conversation, and it only confused him, though he could tell by their tones that it was urgent. It was something about 'Only two bodies' 'Both adults' and 'Another sweep?'

Not a moment later, they were entering the building a final time to search for what they were sure to be another grilled body (extra crispy with a side of burnt ashes), but due to policy, had to find it anyway.

But once again, they came out with nothing. Dean pushed away from the overbearing neighbor that found it her sworn duty to protect the child from being traumatized, though it was obviously a little late for that, and ran over to the man he had been talking to earlier. "Mister? Mister, where's my brother? Did you find Sammy?"

The man just looked down at him with sad eyes that, had Dean not been five, would have said everything. But Dean _was_ five.

"We need to find him. Daddy won't be happy if he has to go back in after getting mommy." Dean pleaded, hoping to get his point along to the man in yellow and black.

But the man merely walked away, turning his head so that the young boy wouldn't see the small tear forming at the edge of his vision. He thought he could do it. He had done it before. Countless times before, he had been the one to break the crushing news to a family that somebody didn't make it. That a loved one was gone. But this was different. How could he look the trusting boy in the eye and tell him that his dad- his invincible hero- would never walk out that door? Would never scoop his child into his arms and tell him that everything would be okay. Never show his son the proper way to throw a football, or talk to a girl. . . Never again tell him how proud of him he was. . .

That his mother would never pack his lunch for school. Never give him a hug when he was upset. Never bake cookies together. . . She would never tell him what a good man he was going to be. Never tell him a bedtime story and assure him that their was nothing under the bed or in the closet. . .

Dean stared at the man's retreating back but carefully followed close behind to listen as he told his officer what actually happened. He had learned a long time ago that it was better to wait for the adult to think you weren't around if you ever wanted to hear the truth. It wasn't hard as people were littered all over the lawn, making it easy for a five year old boy to blend in.

"So, what's the status Jack?"

The fireman- who Dean now identified as Jack- lowered his head and stated quietly. "Only one of the family members made it out. A young boy."

"And? Did you make the sweep? Were their any survivors in the wreckage?"

Jack visibly flinched at the careless way the question was asked. As if he didn't give a damn one way or the other if _anyone_ came out of this alive.

Dean leaned in expectantly waiting for him to reveal where his dad was so he could go find him and tell him that they needed to search for his little brother.

Jack swallowed a growing lump in his throat, unable to understand why this certain fire had him on the brink of breaking down. "No sir. We found the bodies of a male and female. His parents. They were both dead by the time we got to them. . ."

Dean's world turned upside down as he heard the impossible words exiting the fireman's mouth. "NOཀ"

The scream brought an immediate standstill to the entire neighborhood, all eyes turning to the young boy who uttered the disbelieving cry. "You're lyingཀ" he screamed again before turning on his heel and running top speed to the porch police were beginning to surround in the traditional caution tape, brushing the stinging tears from his eyes as he pushed through the door and stumbled up the now charcoal black stairs before a strong hand stopped him by wrapping an arm easily around his waist and pulling him back into a tight embrace. "Son, I'm so sorry."

It was the nice fireman. Dean trembled violently in his grip, unable to let his small mind grasp the meaning of his words. Daddy was dead. Mommy was dead. Sammy. . .

It suddenly dawned on the little boy that they hadn't said anything about his baby brother. Pulling out of the strong man's arms, Dean stared him in the eyes. "Sammy. Did you take him outside already? Is he waiting for me?"

The man felt his heart breaking at the blind hope pouring from the fragile boy standing in front of him. The boy who just found out his parents were dead. . . and all he cares about is finding his little brother. "No Son. I'm sorry, we couldn't find your brother."

Dean let the apology sink in before hopping up and down in a panicked frenzy. "We have to find him thenཀ He'll be scared to be alone for so longཀ"

"Why don't we go outside first." Jack suggested softly, gently taking the boy by the hand and leading him outside to the waiting hands of the pepper haired, over protective lady who was watching him earlier. He leaned down to look at Dean. "I need you to be brave little guy. I'll go inside one more time and take a peek for Sammy, okay?"

The woman stiffened slightly before tapping Jack on the shoulder. "Uh, sir? Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Dean watched as she led the nice man away, wringing her hands nervously. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but it couldn't be good by the strange expression crossing Jack's face.

"I'm so sorry I had to be the one to tell you that. But I just couldn't have you and your brave men over there, go back into the building when it is so dangerous. Especially when there's nothing to find. You have to know, little Dean over there has a very active imagination. It is understandable after all of this that he would be worried about Sammy."

"But Sammy is. . ." Jack couldn't bring himself to say it. The look in the young boys eyes had been so frightened. So sure that he had to get his little brother. . .

"Imaginary." The woman finished with a sigh. "It's too bad John and Mary decided to stop having kids. Dean would have had somebody to play with, instead of making up pretend friends instead." Another prolonged sigh. "I bet he would have been a fantastic brother."

"I've no doubt." Jack nodded sadly. "Well, thank you for informing me, Miss?"

"Oh, you can just call me Liz. Everybody does."

"Well, then thank you Liz. Do you know if Dean has any relatives to take him in?"

Dean observed attentively as the two adults were engaged in a conversation that he was sure had nothing to do with finding his little brother as soon as possible. Well, if they weren't going to help, then he would have to do it himself.

Tiptoeing once again across the lawn, Dean sprinted up the stairs and through the hallway until he was in sight of the burnt out nursery room. The last time he was in here, his father leapt through the door, despite the searing heat emanating from inside.

Pushing down the emotions struggling inside of him, the boy moved closer till he was just inside the crispy fried doorframe, staring at the horrific scene laying before him.

The room was completely burnt out leaving no trace that this ever was anybody's nursery and two almost unrecognizable bodies sat in the very center of the room; one cradling the other in it's arms, apparently trying to protect the other from harm. Dean knew who they were and didn't hold back as the impending nausea pushed up his throat, causing the racking shudders to ripple through the small body as it heaved the last of his dinner, making it the only thing in the room that hadn't been blackened by the spreading ash.

Shaking terribly, Dean walked across the room, trying to keep as much distance between him and his dead parents, as he made his way to the empty spot were the crib used to stand. "Sam?" he called out quietly, though his voice barely left his trembling lips. "Sammy?"

Nothing. Not even a cry. Looking around, the young boy couldn't even find a body. Raising his voice to a shrill yell Dean frantically rushed around the room to find the missing brother. "Sammyཀ Where are you?"

Sirens sounded from outside the window and Dean ran over to see what the fuss was about. They were looking for somebody. . . Him? But only one person knew where he was. Only one person stared at him through the window from the lawn below. Only one person smirked at him with oily black orbs in place of eyes.

Dean sucked in his breath and huddled in the corner from fear at the sight. He knew there was a reason he always hated Liz. . .

* * *

"NOཀ" The cry echoed around the empty alleyway as the thrashing man finally woke from his hated nightmare. It was the same as the one last night. It was the same every night. Pushing himself off the ground, the man kicked a trash can over to vent his frustration while a stray tear leaked from his good eye. 

They were going to pay. He would make sure of it. And he felt sorry for anyone foolish enough to stand in his way.

* * *

Ending Author Notes: What was that weirded dream all about? Who was the man in the alley? What does this even have to do with the story? So many darn questionsཀ And unfortunately only one answer: Only time can tell. Well, technically I could too, but what would the fun be in that I wonder?

Extra note: I'm sure you're wondering why the heck I'm telling you about a dream some stranger had and not Sam or Dean. . . Well, to clear that mess up, I'm here to tell you that the boys didn't have any interesting dreams that night worth telling. Unless of course you count strippers and textbooks. . . Care to take a guess on which was which. (Yeah, I know. Sam has a dirty mind. . .) ;-) - Kerri


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Mirror, Mirror

Day 2: Monday (the vagueness continues. . .) 10:27am

"Rise and shine Sleeping Uglyཀ Time to get upཀ"

Sam rolled over on the persistently uncomfortable bed of the equally mortifying motel room that he and Dean decided to stay in for the time and moaned in drowsy protest at the interruption to his dreamless yet rather satisfying sleep. They had been in some pretty nasty rooms before, but this was, in it's simplest terms: a crap chute. (Almost eerily accurate since just behind the building was the local dump) Nevertheless, it had a shower, two beds, and it was cheap. Knowing Dean, it had probably been the last reason that swayed his standards, considering they were running low on the now obviously much needed cash.

But a bed was a bed, and Sam had no desire to ever leave it's sleep producing warmth.

And as usual, Dean had other ideas. "Heyཀ You may be a girl, but there is no way in hell I'm kissing you awake, so get your ass up and get in the shower. You're already collecting complaints about that smell you're toting around."

Sam mumbled something about not being able to tell, by the reeking stench of month old garbage wafting in through the cracked windows, and it being Dean's fault that he smelled in the first place since he refused to let him in the shower when he wouldn't tell him about the vision/ flashback, and that it should be a welcome relief to have some pond a la' scum as the resident air freshener instead of the cheap: Wet dog in mud, (as Sam had promptly named it, but the greasy handed owner remained strong in his resolve that it was in fact cinnamon) and that they should sue for all this crappy place was worth, which he was sure wasn't much, so at least they would get something out of this whole experience.

At least, that's what Dean thought he mumbled. It was either that or a curse on Monday mornings. . . he couldn't really tell.

"Well alright, suit yourself. I guess I'll just go on in and take a nice, hot, relaxing shower until all the water is gone. Then I'll drive into town. You'll have to walk 'cause there's no way you're getting yourself inside my baby. . ."

Sam cracked his eyelids open and glared at Dean through hazy and unfocused hazel eyes. "Dude, wouldn't touch that line with a ten foot pole."

Dean almost laughed at how weak his brother's voice sounded, despite the fact that he had just insulted the precious Impala, but stopped when Sam struggled to sit up in bed and instead fell victim to a harsh fit of coughing. That in and of itself was nothing to go crying home about, save for when he didn't stop.

Dean struggled between the urge to pound his hand between his brother's shoulder-blades or joke at the fact that he couldn't even talk without his voice cracking. In the end, he settled for placing his hand on Sam's shoulder and fixing a concerned frown in his direction. "Sam? You okay?"

After about five more coughs, Sam gasped for air and fell back against his pillow, relief washing over him that it was over, but the feeling was quickly replaced by the waves of exhaustion that hit him. Damn, he felt like he had just run a marathon and then thought that mountain climbing would be a good idea, followed shortly after with a visit to a heavy metal/ rock band concert. Yeah. That was exactly what he felt like, and it was only. . .

Sam glanced over at the clock only to remember that there wasn't going to be one. Definitely something to add to his rapidly growing list of things to hate about ultra cheap motels. All he knew was that it way too early in the day to be feeling anywhere near this miserable.

"Sam?"

Sam turned over to face his brother's concerned filled face before groaning and forcing himself to a sitting position. He felt like shit. His lungs were burning and screaming for more air from the small episode a moment before, and his throat felt like an empty cavern in the middle of the Sahara desert with little people inside, thinking it would be fun to poke the walls with flaming brands. And after all that coughing, it felt especially raw and sore.

"I. . . I'm fine Dean." 'Liar'

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Just a little backed up I guess." 'Bullshit' "I'll be fine after I get in the shower and get this lake residue off of me."

Dean searched his little brother's eye's before removing his hand from his shoulder and nodded. It didn't take a genius to know that Sam wasn't telling the whole truth, but he wasn't going to push it. If Sam wanted to talk, he would. So ignoring all his elder brother instincts to force the facts out of him, Dean stood up and snatched his keys off the dresser in between the two's beds, then answered the question he knew Sam was about to ask.

He knew because it was the same question he would always ask him. Anytime one of them decided to go somewhere, the other made it a die hard habit to be sure of their destination, the road that would take them there, and the means of transportation by which they would go. "I'm going to grab us some breakfast. I'll be back by the time you're done with your shower."

Sam nodded his head and swung his legs over the side of the bed, trying to convince his body that it was time to wake up. It was a little more difficult than he imagined. His head was pounding and he felt like something especially heavy was sitting on his chest, refusing to relieve him of its constant pressure as he finally set his feet on the ground and stood up. That was when he realized that his legs were something akin to jelly and didn't appreciate the suggestion that they should feel obligated to hold his weight anymore. But unwilling to let Dean see his weakness, Sam lifted his arm to lean against the wall, trying to look casual in the gesture, and hoped that Dean didn't see right through the disguise.

Dean didn't blink twice at the motion and simply opened the door to head out to the parking lot. "I'll be back in ten." With that, he left Sam alone in the motel, and jogged quickly over to the Impala before he had a chance to acknowledge him.

Sam watched as Dean exited the room and as soon as he heard the Impala's roar fade away in the distance, he released a heavy sigh of relief and practically fell to the floor in exhaustion from the effort of keeping himself upright, even if he had been supporting most of his weight on the wall.

Honestly, he couldn't believe that Dean didn't notice. And for that he was strangely thankful. Or maybe not. What the heck was wrong with him anyway? Here he is, feeling miserable, covered in night old pond scum, a headache the size of Dean's ego, and Dean hadn't even noticedཀ Sam couldn't decide if he was happy that his brother wouldn't be bugging him about it or if he was angry that Dean was so oblivious to his pain. Could it have been any more obvious?

Groaning in exasperation, he took one last look out the window to be sure his brother wasn't going to come back any time soon, and stumbled slowly into the bathroom, praying that he hadn't been lying when he told Dean that all he needed was a shower before feeling right as rain.

"Right as rain." Sam mumbled under his breath, slightly amused at the expression. "What the heck does that even mean?"

* * *

10:34am 

Dean quietly cursed himself as he pulled out of the motel parking lot, driving off onto the crumbled gravel and dirt road before looking back one more time to the room Sam was currently occupying. It didn't take an idiot to know that Sam was hurting, but what he didn't understand was why his brother didn't think telling him was important. It wasn't even that. Sam didn't not just tell him. He was trying to hide it. And that was what bothered Dean the most. "Frickin' dumbass."

Now whether that insult was directed at Sam for trying to cover up his pain, or at himself for not saying anything, he wasn't really sure, but it seemed sufficient and he was sure that he got the point across to whomever it was intended.

Yeah, he would get the breakfast. He would be back in ten. He would come back and act like he didn't know anything was wrong. He would play the good brother who would respect his brother's wishes and not push. But it didn't mean he had to like it. In fact, he would hate it with every fiber of his being. . .

Dean's grip tightened on the wheel in front of him, keeping both eyes firmly glued to the pot hole filled road ahead. Sam would crack. It shouldn't take too long before his little brother wouldn't be able to take it anymore and spill his girly guts all over; pouring his sensitive heart out in one of those painfully uncomfortable chick-flick moments they seem to always end up doing.

Dean grinned at the last thought.

"Well as long as we keep the hugging down to a once every year past never, it should be ok."

10:39am

Sam stepped carefully out of the shower, tying the thankfully clean towel around his abdomen and headed to the sink, wiping his hand across the mirror so as to see his reflection. He grimaced when he saw the dark circles ringing under his eyes and a small greenish bruise laying just out of reach from his thickly growing bangs. He couldn't remember hitting his head on anything, but that didn't come as much of a surprise, considering he couldn't recall much after walking over to the lake and being pulled to the shore by Dean.

He glared at his reflection as if the image had betrayed him somehow.

"Frickin' dumbass. Why the hell did I have to have the goddamn 'vision'? Why couldn't I even keep myself from falling into the freaking lake? Why can't I go a goddamn friggin' minute without Dean having to jump in and save my ass?"

Dean always told him that talking to yourself (especially in the mirror) was a sure sign that you were going insane, but he didn't care. His whole life was an impossibly crazy mess; what was one more thing to add to the list?

It was then that he thought he actually had gone mad. It _wasn't_ because he was talking to himself in the mirror. It _wasn't_ because he thought his life was one demented mission after another. It _also wasn't_ because he really was insane at all. It _was_ however because his reflection smiled at him.

Well, it wasn't really a smile. It was more like a knowing smirk, meant to infuriate him. Sam's eyes widened and then blinked in rapid succession, trying to clear the image away. Nothing changed even after the multitude of eye blinking. He reached his hand up to feel his face and sure enough, definitely not smirking.

But there it was, staring at him with understanding eyes. Taunting him with the idea that it knew something he didn't, and had no intention of sharing anytime soon.

"This is insaneཀ" he cried out before quickly running out of the room, breathing hard; he hadn't realized how disturbing the image had been until it was gone, and now all he could think about was trying to clear his head. Air. Just keep breathing. Surely that would do the trick. It was only his imagination. His mind was playing tricks on him.

Sam shook his head, attempting to clear the remaining cobwebs out of his brain. "I must have hit my head harder than I thought."

He almost laughed at that suggestion, considering he hadn't even thought he hit his head till he looked in the mirror and saw it. Almost. But not quite. Somehow it didn't seem quite appropriate. It was like one of those moments when you're telling a friend a secret, and even though you're in a completely empty room, you feel the oddest need to whisper.

Taking in one last gulp of air, Sam straightened up and rifled aimlessly through his duffel bag, in search of at least mildly decent clothes; but to no avail. Sighing in frustration, he finally settled on the first least ripped up jeans and not so completely blood soaked t-shirt he could find. After changing, he glanced warily back at the bathroom before walking back inside and started to run a comb through his hair.

He let out the air he hadn't realized he had been holding, in a breath of relief. His image was reflecting as it should be. 'Must have just been the shower haze.' he reasoned with himself.

And of course, that was a perfectly reasonable explanation, except that not a second later and his mirror double was once again smirking at him with knowing contempt; smugness written all over his features. And this time there wasn't anything wrong with the mirror.

"You're in danger."

Okay, now Sam was officially freaked out. It was one thing to have your reflection give different expressions, but now it was talking to him, and even that was a bit on the high scale of weirdness, that just might have topped all the other craziness going on in his life.

"He's coming for you."

Call it a leap of faith. "What are you talking about?" If Dean saw him now, he would probably be getting a one way ticket to the nearest mental hospital. Sam suddenly felt a strange wish that Dean _would_ walk in. At least then maybe he could tell Sam he was insane so that he could argue the point. But Dean wasn't here, so that left Sam alone to reason with himself. It really wasn't working.

"You've got to stop him."

Well, that wasn't exactly an answer. Damn, if these stupid things were allowed to talk, then it was only fair that they should be able to hear you too. "Who? I have to stop who?" He prodded anyway. This was definitely shaping up to be the most absurd conversation he had ever had.

"Dean." The image stated solemnly with the unnerving, unblinking eyes that seemed to stare right into your soul, stripping away any shred of hope that this was all just a really bizarre dream. "You have to stop Dean."

"Samཀ"

Sam jerked around as he heard the motel door burst open and then slam shut, followed by Dean's voice calling out for him. 'Shitཀ' He turned back to the reflection with confusion, but only met with himself, worried eyes and all. No smirk now. Now it was just him. 'Double shit. If I wasn't insane before, than I sure as hell am now.'

"Sammyཀ This so isn't funny man. Get your ass out of the bathroom and eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

Sam leaned over the sink and suddenly felt ill at the mention of food. For as short of a day as it had been, it felt like it been dragging on for eternity and all he wanted to do was go back to sleep and not wake up until. . . he stopped at that thought. Maybe he didn't really want to ever wake up. To stay forever in the safe comfort of his own mind. Never having to deal with the damn problems that seemed to throw themselves at him. It sounded strangely appealing, and that was what scared Sam the most.

'I'm going insane.'

The words of the reflection repeated themselves in his head, teasing him with the their eery and unexpected message. 'Stop Dean? Stop him from doing what? What did it mean I was in danger?'

* * *

Dean listened intently at the sound of heavy breathing coming from the bathroom, and had to practically nail himself to the ground to keep from rushing in to see what was ailing his baby brother. Not many things could upset Dean, or get him to make a quick and rash decision, but when it came to Sam. . . Nothing screws with him without having to face to wrath of Captain One-Heckava-Big Brother.

And he knew that in his own way, Sam appreciated that, though he would never admit to it. He was in his twenties for cripes sakeཀ Could there be anything more embarrassing than having to be saved by his big brother time and time again. Yeah, Dean thought with some amusement, Sam definitely didn't have a problem with trying to prove to him how much he didn't need his help, but somehow, in the end, circumstances were always against him, and Dean would jump in and fix the problem.

Of course it wasn't always like that. Sam sure as hell did his own share of saving big brother's ass on more than one occasion, but Dean never liked things to stay that way. He was the oldest, therefore it was his job to protect Sam. Not the other way around. But again, fate seemed to always have other ideas. . .

"Hey Dean." Sam leaned against the doorframe in a casual way, trying for a smile, though he was pretty sure that it only ended up in a grimace. Damn his uncooperative body. "What the hell took you so long?"

Unlike Sam, Dean managed to get the ever elusive smile to grace his face, though inside there was definitely a frown etched across his features. Sam looked like shit. His hair was uncombed; sticking out in various directions, and his face was pale. Though it was his eyes that actually caught Dean's attention. They looked. . . scared? Pushing down his anxiety and keeping to his resolve not to say anything, Dean lifted up a small bag and motioned over to the two large Styrofoam cups setting on the table/ dresser/ counter. "The diner guy couldn't find the coffee cream."

Now Sam had a reason to grimace. "You mean they didn't have anything?" His voice was most definitely laced with dismay.

Dean shook his head. "You didn't let me finish. Anyway, I told the guy I had to get the cream. So while he was looking in the back room for it, he said if my girlfriend was so damn picky about her coffee then it was probably time to end the relationship. Really nice guy." Dean took a sip of his own java and continued baiting his little brother. "Name was Frank."

"Dean." Sam did not sound amused.

"Mmhm."

"Did you get the cream?"

"Of courseཀ"

Sam almost smiled at the offended tone Dean took on. Almost. Carefully, Sam walked across the room to get his hand around the cup and took a sip. It was surprisingly good, considering the way that Dean had told the story, he expected some disgusting mess. "Thanks. And: Jerk."

Dean raised his eyebrows in mock innocence. "What?"

"Girlfriend my ass." Sam mumbled under his breath. "So what did you tell him."

"I agreed."

"Deanཀ"

Dean lifted his hands in a sign of surrender. "I'm just kidding Sam. Man, you really need to lighten up."

Sam just glared at him.

"Fine, whatever. Just figured you needed to laugh was all."

Sam rolled his eyes. "So you thought telling me that somebody thought I was your girlfriend would have me rolling on the floor with the hilarity?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Dean gave a half nod. "It made me laugh."

Sam couldn't help but agree at that statement. "I'm sure it did." Pretty much anything held at his expense was considered a side splitter to Dean. Just one more annoyance in the life of Sam Winchester. One more nuisance that would explain his sudden spell of insanity. One more pain in the ass to add to another long list of his.

But honestly, in the most warped way possible, Sam couldn't help but actually enjoy it. If Dean wasn't teasing the crap out of him, it could only mean something was wrong, and that was just unacceptable. When it came to Dean, Sam channeled his inner father, (or mother as Dean liked to call it) and watched over him like an overprotective hawk and he knew it. Yeah, it was overkill. But nothing was going to mess with Dean without having to answer to the comic book character his brother named: Geek Boy.

No way in hell was Sam going to ever roll over and let something happen to his brother. He needed him. Probably more than he even let himself admit. And now with his freaky vision - or flashback. He really couldn't decide - and the insane conversation he had with himself in the mirror earlier. . . What the hell did he mean that he was in danger?

"Uh, Sam?"

Sam blinked quickly. "Yeah Dean?"

"Is something wrong man?"

"No." Sam flinched as he realized that he answered too quickly. "Why?"

"Well, you're staring at me like I'm about to go on a killing rampage or something. . ."

"No." Sam mentally kicked himself for yet again rushing the reply. "I mean, no, it's nothing."

"Uh huh." Dean did not sound convinced and looked Sam over carefully, debating whether he should torture the truth out of his brother or just let it go. Going with the latter, Dean ended the 'discussion' with a sigh and decided that his coffee was probably the most interesting thing to occupy his time with.

Unfortunately, he had just finished the last of its remains, so that left him with staring at one of the myriad of stains on the floor instead.

"Dean?"

Dean looked up to see the look he had just given Sam, mirrored back at him. Dammit. "Yeah Sam?"

"Are you alright?"

Dean nearly rolled his eyes. 'Am I okay? Am _I _okay? You were the one that could barely get yourself out of bed. You were the one that looked like he was about to pass out at any time. . .' he thought about that a minute longer. 'Scratch that. You still look like you're ready to drop.' Dean's thoughts were on a roll. 'You want to know if I'm okay? Noཀ Of course I'm not okayཀ My brother nearly drowned in a damn lake yesterday, and then he wouldn't even tell about that vision he hadཀ I wake up to find that he's barely holding it together. Probably has pneumonia; serves him right, the jerk. And he wont tell me how crappy he feelsཀ In fact, he's hiding itཀ Something is going on, and I'm powerless to help because my brother's damn ego is too big to actually let me in on itཀ You wanted to know how I felt? That's itཀ'

Instead, Dean just shrugged and offered a smile. "Yeah man. I'm good, so quit trying to bug the crap out of me and drink your coffee. It wasn't easy to get you know."

Sam smiled back at the reassurance. For a minute he had actually been worried that something was wrong. Well that was definitely a relief. Not that he didn't care about Dean, but he had enough problems right now to worry about, without having to add his brother's personal drama in the mix. Yeah, this would have been a crappy time for Dean to have decided to do the whole 'sharing' thing.

Sam suddenly felt guilty. Why was he so happy about this? He should be upset. He should push Dean, just to be sure that he was being honest. But he couldn't. Didn't want to. He didn't want to know if anything was wrong. He wanted to believe his brother. And for some reason. . . that made him feel guilty as hell. . .

* * *

Time Unknown

"Sam? Sam, wake up."

Sam cracked his eyelids open, instantly regretting that decision, and snapped them back shut to block out the bright light shining in his face. But the voice in his ear had a different idea.

"Sam, goddamn it, get up. We have to get out of here before they find us."

What the hell? Sam squinted his eyes but still couldn't get past the light blasting at him. Man, there couldn't be anything more annoying then waking up to a blinding light in your face.

"Sam please."

Strike that. The most irritating thing would be to wake up to the blinding light, somebody talking your ear off and then shaking the living daylights out of you. Yep. Definitely more annoying. . . So he decided to voice how pissed off he was. "Mrrgh." Okay, he had to admit that wasn't the most convincing argument he had come up with before. . .

"Huh? Oh. Sorry." The voice apologized, followed by the sudden relief of darkness. "I forgot about the flashlight." The voice sounded embarrassed. . . and something else. . . female?

"What?" Sam cursed himself for sounding so sluggish, but he couldn't help it. He felt so tired. . .

Squinting his eyes back open, Sam took a look at his surroundings and blinked slowly. He didn't recognize anything about this place. He was in a dark alley; that much he knew, but how the hell he got here was beyond him.

Then of course there was the person of whom his head was currently residing in their lap. She was pretty. Gorgeous blue eyes, contrasted by her short, choppily cut, black hair and thick eyelashes blinked down at him in concern. "Who. . . who are you?" His voice sounded thick and confused.

It was then that the girl's eyes filled up with tears. "Oh God, Sam." she put her hand down and combed it through his hair while placing her other hand on his cheek affectionately. "Don't you remember? It's me baby. . . It's Tara." She smiled down hopefully but crumbled when Sam could only shake his head.

Why couldn't he place her face? Why couldn't he remember why he was here in the first place? The last thing he remembered was talking to Dean. . . "W- What's going on?"

The girl, who now was named Tara tried to hold the tears back as she stared sadly down at him. "Sam, you were in a fight, don't you remember?" Another shake of the head. Tara bit the inside of her lip and tugged unconsciously at one of the multiple earrings looping around her ears. Again, Sam couldn't help but note how breathtaking she was, though she couldn't have been older than seventeen, with an amazingly detailed tattoo of a fire ring around her right wrist, but then pushed that thought away to try to concentrate at the problem at hand.

"A fight?"

"Yeah." She continued to stroke his hair tenderly. "I don't know what the hell you were thinking. Going up against the blood like that? All by yourself?" she almost sounded angry now. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Of course Sam didn't actually have an answer. "What's the blood?"

Tara blinked back more tears. "Not what, Sam. Who." she swallowed slowly, and then licked her lips, trying to get some moisture back before continuing. "The Blood. The big badass gang of this side of town. You should know better then to come over here without team backup. You should have at least gotten Jay to go with you. But you always were such a showoff. . ."

Sam didn't understand a thing she was saying. The Blood? Team backup? Jay? What the hell was going on here? Tara must have seen the panic growing in his eyes because she leaned down and cradled him protectively in her arms all the while trying to comfort him.

"It's okay baby. Everything will be okay. You'll remember soon. Oh God Sam. . . everything will be all right. It took me forever to find you, I'm just so glad you're alive." Her tears fell down onto his cheek as she cried over him, and Sam could only lay there in shock and confusion. This girl really cared about him, but despite the fact that he now knew her name, he couldn't figure out who the hell she actually was.

The moment was short lived though, as the sound of approaching footsteps and laughing voices neared them, and Tara instantly stiffened. "Shit." she swore quietly under her breathe. "Shit, shit, shit. Their here." Her voice was laced with anger, but what Sam noticed most was the underlaying dread and fear not only in her words but in her eyes, screaming out in unrestrained panic. Sam had no idea who these people were that were getting closer, but he figured that they definitely weren't good news.

Tara looked around quickly and spotted a small exit to the side of them; a way leading out of the alley. "Alright Sam, we have to go." Her voice was lowered down to a whisper as she carefully removed Sam's head off her lap and wrapped her arms around his upper chest for balance as she helped him up. Naturally that would be when his leg decided to announce the fact that it was broken. . .

"Argh." Sam bit down on his bottom lip to keep from crying out loud as the pain traveled up and down his leg. It was as if someone had just set fire to his veins. He looked down and swore under his breath as he saw his left leg twisted at an awkward angle. 'Shitཀ Where the hell is Dean?'

"Samཀ" Tara's voice was harsh and barely audible as her face was scrunched up in a more emotional pain, from the turn of events. "We have to move. . . now."

"Well, well. What have we here?" The deep male voice drew out the question lazily, letting the effects settle for a moment before snickering in sick glee. He was quickly backed up by a number of other voices who decided to join in the fun. "A couple of Firebrands?" He gave another chuckle of pleasure. "And what would you two be doing on this side of the tracks, all by your lonesome?"

It wasn't until Tara was forcefully pulled away from him that Sam realized how much of his weight she had actually been holding. Stars were flashing before his eyes, as he crumpled heavily to the ground, crying out in pain as his leg again protested against any movement he might make. Why couldn't he concentrate? Everything was moving so slowly. . .

"Samཀ" Tara's voice then cut through the night as he turned to see her being dragged away by the group. "Sam helpཀ Get off of me you Bloodsuckerཀ"

He attempted to blink away the haze that was building up behind his eyes, but couldn't shake away the fog. His leg kept him anchored to the ground no matter how hard he tried to stand; or even crawl for that matterཀ "Taraཀ"

All he could hear were her screams as she disappeared around the alleyway corner, taking the rest of the menacing figures with her. Her shouts for help. Her pleas for mercy. Her cries for him. Why him? He didn't even know her. . .

Dammitཀ How did everything go so wrong? Not even ten minutes from waking up and he already failed. Failed somebody who obviously trusted him. Where the frickin' hell was Deanཀ Or more to the point. . . where was he?

That was when his stomach figured it was time to make its own displeasure known. Or at least the contents inside anyway.

"Oh god."

* * *

Ending Author Notes: Hm. . . that was a wacked out chapter. . . grins evilly Poor Sam is really sick, and poor Dean seems to be getting left out of the loop on everythingཀ draws circle of salt around herself for protection against overzealous fan girls 

Extra notes: Honestly, this all will make sense in the future, so trust me when I say that I know what I'm doing. I think. . . What is that you say? You want more Dean? Well the whole chapter two was about him for Pete's sakeཀ What more do you want from meཀ Actually, never mind. Don't answer that. Dean should have a large part to play in this, though it might not seem obvious right now. ;-)

Extra, Extra note: Wait a minute you're saying. I thought you said no romanceཀ Well, it wasn't really romanceཀ Sam didn't even know the girlཀ So if that's a chick flick 'oh man that was beautiful' kind of thing to you, than you are really messed up. ;-) (P.S. Honestlyཀ I swear these notes just keep getting longer and longerཀ) - Kerri


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Insanity

3:00-ish pm

"Samཀ"

Sam bolted upright at the call. "Taraཀ"

Dean crinkled his nose in confusion before letting a smirk settle in its place. "So, you actually _do_ dream about chicks, huh? Tell me, was she hot?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and then noticed the almost painfully obvious sheen of sweat beading along his brothers hairline and frowned in concern. "Not the burning up in a freak fire kinda hot, right?"

Sam shook his head in confusion. God, he felt like he had just been teleported from one reality to another.

But Dean was here. Good.

At least this reality made more sense.

"D- Dean?" Well, apparently the way he felt wasn't any different though. Except for his leg. Thankfully, it wasn't screaming bloody murder and twisted in a 180, but man he felt like shit. Couldn't even talk without the damn tremble in his voice. And the freaky desert mutant guys with burning pokers in his throat were back too. . .

"Sam, seriously. Are you okay? You're shaking like a leaf."

"Dean?"

"I'm here dude. Just calm down."

Sam took in some deep breaths and tried to control his shaking. Thank goodnessཀ Dean was here. Relief poured into him from that small comfort. "Dean." It then dawned on him that 'Dean' was the only thing he has said since he had. . . returned? Was that the right word? Was he even gone? Was it a dream? A vision? Maybe some other freaky ability he had yet to control? God his life sucked. . .

Dean was getting a little annoyed though at the repetitive way Sam was saying his name. "Yeah manཀ Me Dean; you Jane. Now that we have that all cleared up, do you have anything else you want to get out?"

Actually, Sam had a whole lot he wanted to get out. . . unfortunately it all consisted of the undigested food variety. . .

Realizing he was in the Impala, Sam nearly took the door off as he rushed out of the vehicle and found a nearby trash-can to puke in. And not just the one take and you're done sort of puke either. It was more of the vomit till you're sure that your guts and any other bodily fluid have been drained, then just for kicks act like you still have something to offer and dry heave for a while.

Definitely not the most pleasant experience in the world. . .

"Samཀ" Dean exited from the already parked Impala and rushed over to his miserable looking brother leaning heavily against the silver exterior of the garbage can. It wasn't a long run, but he was already out of breath by the time he arrived and panting was beginning to become a serious possibility.

"Sam are you okay?"

Sam groaned at that question. If only Dean knew. . . "I thought you said I was Jane." he quietly croaked out.

Dean cracked a small smile and then sat down next to his brother. "Well, if you really want, we could have it changed. But I seriously draw the line at any other kind of changes you might feel like having." Dean teased. "What? Was Tara not good enough for you?"

Sam jumped to his feet and leaned over the glorified puke collector to give it more tribute. There was no way in hell he had eaten that much this morning, and no way in hell was he even going to think about eating any more today. Lunchtime be damnedཀ "Don't say that."

Dean mentally flinched at the vulnerability in Sam's voice. Something was definitely up. Not that Sam acting nervous as hell, nearly screaming in his sleep, and then vomiting like a drunk with a mother of hangovers wasn't his first clue or anything. God, he felt like an idiot. A completely helpless idiot at that. . .

"Don't say what?"

Sam just turned his head to avoid eye contact. No way was Dean going to understand this. He already thought that he was a freak; no need to give him more proof. 'But what if he can help?' his inner voice asked. 'Nuh uh. The last thing I need is to be a bigger burden than I already am.' his other side argued. 'Dean doesn't think you're burden. He's told you that.' the first side debated. 'Yeah? Well, Dean says a lot of things.' the second side snapped back. 'Stop being such a jerk.' the first side pouted. Followed by the second's expected insult. 'Bitch.'

"Sammy?"

"Oh, God I'm going insane." Sam pulled his face down in between his knees as his hands fisted tightly into his thick hair. He was crazy and he knew it. Ever since he fell into that goddamn lake everything was so backwards and nothing made sense. Something was trying to mess with his head. "Well guess what? It's workingཀ" he yelled out to no one in particular before mumbling quietly under his breath. "It's frickin' working. . ."

* * *

3:00-ish pm

He hated libraries. . .

They were too damn quiet, which allowed a mind to wander aimlessly until it settled on the one thing the person in question probably had the least intention of remembering. This was one of those times. All he asked for was a distraction. One little thing to take his mind off the offending memory assaulting him. Was that too much to ask?

That's when it happened.

It was like an answer from God.

Could it have fallen into place any better than this?

He didn't think so.

Rubbing his fingers lightly on a black eyepatch over his right eye, he smirked a little.

He had been watching the sleek black Impala ever since it had rolled into the parking lot not five minutes earlier. So far, nothing had come of that random stake out until luck decided to finally take an interest and smile down at him.

Who would have thought that at that precise moment, the door would fly open and out would come the very person he had been looking for? The one being he had been searching for, for all these years? The one individual he had been hunting for his entire life?

Oh, the irony that he would show up when least expected.

But he was different. . .

Well, other than the fact that he had never seen his hunt throwing up in a garbage can that is. . . His hair was lighter and his eyes seemed. . . well, different.

He couldn't get a good look at the person sitting next to him, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he had found his ever elusive prey, though his appearance was slightly skewed.

But it was him. It had to be.

He would recognize Samuel Winchester anywhere. . .

A wicked grin spread over his features. 'Ah, Sammy boy. It's been too long and you are going to pay.' he felt the small bulge of his knife concealed in his leather jacket and couldn't help the small chuckle it seemed to elicit. 'You should know better than anybody. . . Payback's a bitch.'

* * *

3:10pm

Dean missed something. He just knew it.

If he thought that he had been helpless before, then he didn't know what he felt now.

Nothing in the 'Big Brothers for Dummies' handbook or 'The Idiots Guide to the Elder Brother' said anything remotely helpful for what was happening at the present.

Of course, how many big brothers have little bros that had both their mother and girlfriend burnt to a crisp while pinned to the ceiling in a demon started fire, head splitting visions of the to be deceased, and then hunt spirits and demons on a daily basis as his life job?

Not many he was sure.

Also, he was sure that if there were such another family, that the said younger wouldn't be sitting next to a garbage can in front of an almost deserted library, feverishly telling himself that he was crazy.

Well maybe he would. After all, that was what Sam was doing.

Actually, his tune changed just a minute ago to trying to convince himself that he _wasn't_ insane.

"I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy, I'mnot crazy, I'mnotcrazyI'mnotcrazy." His voice was running on with deep hitches in his breath as he rocked himself back in forth, head buried between his knees, hands clutched tightly to his defenseless hair strands, turning his knuckles an almost scary shade of white.

Dean shook himself out of his initial shock to put a stop to this unexpected train wreck. "Sam. Samཀ Snap out of itཀ" He pulled Sam's face toward his own, staring his younger brother in the eye. "You're not crazy. You just had a nightmare."

Sam blinked his eyes open and closed for a few moments, trying to drop his gaze, but Dean would have none of it. "It was just a dumb dream. Not a vision. Does your head hurt?"

Honestly, he felt like his head was about to explode, but he knew it wasn't from his dream, and Dean was trying to make a point. "No." he whispered quietly.

"See? It was just that overactive imagination of yours. Now calm down." he tossed Sam a confident grin he didn't really feel. "Besides, if anyone is going to go insane here, it ought to be me seeing as how I have to deal with your sorry ass every day. And you look like crap by the way."

Sam chuckled quietly at Dean's attempt at humor. "Me? Have you even looked at the mirror today."

Dean didn't seem to notice though. "Of course I did. Even had a nice long talk with my reflection. You know what it told me?"

Fear flashed over Sam's features for just a second at the memory of his own encounter with his mirror image, but hid it quickly and asked quietly and less eagerly. "What did it say?"

Dean saw the brief dread in his brother's face, but thought better than to pry when he already seemed on the edge, so he continued, all the while wondering what it was he could have possibly said to bring that expression. "That I am and always will be, hotter than you."

Sam pushed past his apprehension and smirked at his older brother. "Uh huh. If that's what makes you feel important, than you can keep telling yourself that."

"I don't have to." Dean shot back smugly. "I have other people say it for me."

"Yeah right." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Sam, I'm hurt." Dean placed his hand over his heart in mock despair then rolled his eyes as he saw that his brother wasn't buying the emotionally injured act. "Whatever man. So you feeling well enough to carry a decent conversation with goth kid, or you just want to head back to the motel?"

Sam coughed a couple of times before taking in his surroundings. "Colin, right. . . I guess that would explain why we're at the library."

Dean laughed at the remark. "Explains? You practically dragged me here 'cause you didn't want to be late."

"I did?"

"Yeah, don't tell me you don't remember all that whining shit you were giving me." Dean gave another chuckle. "Maybe I should start recording things for you."

Sam laughed along though without any real emotion. "Oh, yeah, I remember. I was just kidding with you. I mean, God. . . could you have been moving any slower?"

"Well, you seemed to be doing your share of holding us up with that puke fest of yours bro."

"Not funny Dude. I'm not sure I'll be able to eat for a week."

"Like, your stomach would let you get away with starving yourself." Dean snarked sarcastically. "You don't have the willpower."

"Sure I doཀ" Sam argued, though when thinking back saw it probably wasn't the smartest comeback he had conjured up before. But why not roll with it. "And I'll test that theory the day you agree to only eat salad while the dare is in progress."

Dean scrunched his nose up in revulsion. "That chick crap can't even be called food. I might as well be starving myself with you."

"But fun would that be? I want to take pictures of the first bite you ever take of anything green."

"Haཀ I eat my greens. You just don't notice."

"What greens Dean? Jello? Jellybeans? M&Ms?"

The guilty and rather smirky grin on his brother's face confirmed that theory and he gave a sigh. "Dude, that so doesn't even count. I'm all for the candies, cookies, and sweets but those don't even enter the category of food."

"Sure it does." Dean countered smugly. "It's called 'junk food' isn't it?"

"Your logic is your own." Sam grumbled dejectedly.

"But that's why you love me."

"If you say so."

"I do."

"Of course you do."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Nothing Dean."

"Punk."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Wuss."

"Baby."

Something inside of Sam released all too recent memories of his nightmare. "It's okay baby. Everything will be okay. You'll remember soon. Oh God Sam. . . everything will be all right. It took me forever to find you, I'm just so glad you're alive."

"Sam?"

Sam bit the inside of lip in frustration for fazing out on his brother. Why couldn't he shake the feeling that something was off? "Yeah?"

"Maybe we should head back to the motel. You're looking a little green." Dean's concern was actually kinda unsettling to the youngest hunter. He didn't want Dean to be worried about him. That was what he was trying to tell himself anyway.

Sam shook his head and gave a forced laugh. "Well, as long as you don't get any ideas about eating me, I'm sure I'll survive the grueling task of socializing in the library with a kid under the age of twenty."

Dean grinned back in typical. . . well, Dean fashion and patted Sam on the back lightly. "Dude, you're nowhere near sweet enough for me to even think about taking a nibble."

"Said the pot to the kettle."

"I have thousands of friends who would disagree."

"Please don't tell me we're having this discussion again." Sam groaned in exasperation. How was it that

Dean kept sucking him in to these discussions? Godammitཀ His brother wouldn't even let him do the guilty brood thing without poking enough fun to draw out a smile or at least a lip twitch. 'Why me? Can't a guy just sulk in peace any more?'

"Nope."

Sam jumped at the answer to his silent question. "What?"

"We're not having this conversation." Dean reiterated smugly then crinkled his eyebrows together and sighed. "Seriously man. You okay?"

"You know, Colin is probably waiting for us. We should hurry up."

Dean watched as his sibling's retreating form as he walked quickly inside of the library building and let out another well deserved sigh. Things were just getting more wrong by the second. Not only was Sam calling himself insane after having a hell of a nightmare, but he didn't remember a thing after breakfast and before the rude awakening.

"Slowpoke my ass." Dean huffed quietly under his breath. "You forgot all about Colin until I had the car running and called you out."

He saw that Sam had spotted Colin behind a tall shelf of books, but he himself lingered behind for an extra minute; closing his eyes in frustration. "What's going on Sammy? And why won't you let me help?"

* * *

Ending Author notes: First of all, I would like to apologize for taking so long to post this chapter. I always write on my home computer and go on the internet on my laptop, and I lost the transfer stick. . . Embarrassing to be sure. But my sister found it so all is goodཀ Also, Thank you to everybody who has read and reviewed. Your comments are so greatly appreciated. It's like receiving deliveries of dark chocolate, that is a sure fire way to brighten my day. You all rockཀ

Aw, do the brothers never catch a break? I'm guessing between the TV series and all the fanfic that the answer to that question would be a resounding no. Poor Dean. . . All he wants to do is help. But is there anything he can do? Is Sam going to have to handle this on his own? What's with all the mysterious strangers I keep bringing in? The only way to find out is to keep readingཀ laughs manically at her own evil genius

Extra note: As far as I know, memory loss has no connection to doppelgängers. I just added that in to bring in more angst. Is it working? - Kerri


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Runaway

Time Unknown

The soft sound of asphalt crunching beneath the soles of Dean's boots came in quick rhythmic beats as his feet hit the ground in long hurried strides.

Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right, left, right. . . He focused on counting his steps and taking in deep breaths as he continued his purposed run. But there was only one thing set on his mind. Only one thing he was set out to find. He was going to find it, he promised himself that much. Failure was not an option.

"One. . . two. . . three. . . four. . ." He counted slowly, calming himself; it was a trick his dad had taught him before the fire. 'Whenever you get scared, or have trouble thinking straight, stop. Count to ten, take a deep breath and try again. Odds are, you'll feel much better.' So he skipped step one. . . but he didn't really have a choice. He couldn't stop. He had to go faster. "Six. . . seven. . ."

The swaying of the trees to the side of the road came in ominous creaks and whistles, sending tendrils of cold fear down his spine as he continued to run. "Eight - I'm not scared. . . nine - I'm not afraid. . ."

Dean sucked in a final deep breath and smiled as he saw the sign for the final block growing closer. So close. . . "Ten."

Sirens sounded in the distance, interrupting the momentary triumph taking place inside his head and he skidded to a dead halt, eyes scanning to identify where they were coming from. Red and blue flashing lights turned the corner Dean was about pass and he jumped off the side of the road, trembling behind the leaves of a well trimmed piece of shrubbery. It was too late. The well-meaning officer behind the wheel had already spotted him. 'No!'

A flashlight beam pointed straight into his face, making him flinch. "Dean? Son is that you? Come out from behind there, your parents are worried sick about you."

Dean didn't move and the officer sighed sadly and stepped behind the bush to sit next to the upset eight year old. "I have to take you home, you know that."

Dean nodded slowly, tears forming at the edge of his vision. "I know that this whole thing has been really hard on you Son, but Brian and Beth are wonderful people who love you. Everytime you run like this, it hurts them. You don't want that do you?"

"I want Sammy!"

Ah. Officer Pete Matterson had been waiting for that. It was a well known fact in this small community that little Dean had come from a very tragic background. Something about a fire, he was pretty sure. Another thing that the area had no trouble spreading around was how traumatized the only survivor was. Three years later and he still thought that he had a little brother named Sammy. Honestly, it was the most heartbreaking story the small town had ever heard, and the couple that adopted the little child were the most caring people he had ever known. They had talked about seeking out therapy for Dean, but were certain that he would outgrow this phase. Maybe he should talk to them about changing their minds about that.

One of the more popular stories going around though was all about Dean's daring little runaways and escape plans. The first year of the adoption, the boy was constantly running. . . trying to find his 'little brother', but after a couple months of constantly finding the kid and bringing him back home, they were sure that they had convinced him that it was time to stay.

It seemed that they had gotten through to him and things in the tiny city were finally ready to fall back into routine. All through winter, Dean was pretty normal. Quieter than he probably should have been, but nothing to raise concern. All through the spring, he seemed a bit more worked up and jumpy. Always giving off this nervous energy. But it was the very beginning of May where things had gone downhill. May second to be precise.

They hadn't thought much of it after they caught him hitchhiking and brought him home, but he was wild. Downright uncontrollable. If he wasn't crying his head off, they couldn't get him to say a word. Finally, Beth had managed to pry out the reason he left in the first place. Apparently it was Sam's birthday, and the kid went looking for him again.

Good old Beth comforted the child and promised that it was going to be okay. She had even gone out to buy a cake and candles for him. It had kept Dean at peace. . . for a year at least.

Precisely one year later, the police were called and they found the kid on the outskirts of town, backpack full of water bottles and packets of peanut m&ms, trudging down the road.

This year, they had it marked on the calenders, and true to form, here was the runaway himself, trying to get away and calling for his Sammy. Matterson often wondered what made the boy choose that date.

"Son-"

"Stop calling me that! Only dad can call me that!"

"Brian?" Pete tried hopefully. Maybe if the kid started to acknowledge the kindly couple as his parents then there was hope yet.

"No." Dean pouted angrily. "My dad's name is John and he is way braver, cooler, funnier, and better than Brian will ever be."

Nobody said this kid didn't express himself. . .

"And my mommy isn't Beth either! It's Mary!"

"Dean-"

"My brother's name is Sammy and I need to go find him!" By now Dean was in tears, standing and screaming at the innocent cop. "Daddy would want me to take care of him."

"Dean!"

A tearful cry tore through the little heart to heart and both males turned their heads from Dean's hiding spot to see a harried looking Beth and Brian tearing across the road from another police vehicle that just arrived. Pete looked down and felt a stab of sadness hit him at the trapped and deer in the headlights expression Dean had marring his normally adorable features.

Beth ignored the mud and thistles and threw herself to the ground to squeeze Dean in a tight embrace. "Oh, Dean honey. I was so worried."

Dean was crying on her shoulder as they both clung to each other in silent desperate need of the other.

"Beth." Dean choked out.

"Yeah honey?" Tears streaked down her own face. She loved this boy so much she could just. . . she could be his mother.

"I want Sammy back."

Beth knew that if her heart hadn't been breaking before, then it had just been shattered into oblivion at his small plea. She would do anything for the child standing before her, but the one thing he truly wanted- the one thing he needed the most. . . there was nothing she could do. . . "Dean. . ." she started quietly. "We could get a cake and balloons. . . we'll have a party for him. Just the three of us." She looked over to Brian for conformation.

Dean just hung his head and scratched his shoes through the dirt. "But Sammy won't have any cake. . ."

Beth shook her head firmly. "Yes he will Dean. If you believe it- really believe it, then anything can happen. I'll bet little Sammy is eating all the cake and ice cream he wants right now because of you."

"It's not fair. I've been good all year. Why can't I go find my brother?"

Brian kneeled down and faced his adopted son with a solemn expression. "Dean I need you to listen to me okay?"

Dean nodded slowly.

"Expecting life to treat you fairly because you're a good person is like expecting the bull not to attack because you're a vegetarian. All we can do is live life and thank our lucky stars that the best is yet to come." He wasn't sure if what he was saying was getting through, but Dean nodded in understanding and Brian smiled. . . until Dean spoke again that is.

"I don't have lucky stars."

"Sure you do honey." Beth spoke up. "Just look up."

Dean did as she asked and stared at the myriad of little dots winking down at him as if they had all the answers and were just waiting to tell him. 'I wonder if they know where Sam is.'

"There." Beth pointed to a certain cluster of stars and smiled. "Your stars are Orion."

"Orion?" Dean squinted closer at the constellation. "Why Orion?"

"Because Dean, you are strongest, bravest, most faithful warrior I have ever met. You are meant for great things son, and Orion will always be here to guide your steps."

Dean wiped at his tear streaked face. "Always?"

"Always."

* * *

3:36pm

Dean rushed over to a fallen Sam. Exactly ten minutes after eagerly debating over favorite books with Colin and his brother had collapsed onto the floor in a heap of head clutching pain. Dean had been keeping a little distance from Sam hoping that it would make it easier for the younger to enjoy himself. No chance of that now. . .

"Get out of my way." Dean pushed through the quickly gathered room and knelt next to his moaning brother. "Sam. Sam can you hear me?"

"Hurts. . ." Sam hissed out through a clamped jaw.

"Should I call an ambulance?" Somebody called out.

"No!" Dean was thoroughly frustrated. 'Why can't these people mind their own damn business.' "He'll be okay. He just was just a little late in the refill of his prescription."

It might have just been his imagination, but he could've sworn he heard mumbles of disappointment. 'Nice to know that they were looking for their excitement at Sam's expense.' He thought sarcastically.

"Dean?" Colin was kneeling right next to him and had a hand gently placed on one of Sam's shoulders. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Don't worry. He'll be alright in just a sec." 'Please let him be okay.' Though he would never admit it to his brother, the visions scared the hell out of him. He never knew what Sam was seeing till after the fact. All he could see was that his little brother was in pain, and that there was nothing he could do. Heh, you would think he would be used to that by now. . .

It felt like an eternity though the episode only lasted a little less than a minute, and even while Dean's eyes were closed in a silent prayer he knew when Sam's 'vision' ended. He would have liked to brag that it was because they had such a good connection to one another, but alas, it would be a lie. What it was however was the collective sighs of relief coming from the spectators as Sam's eyes finally opened and his clenched jaw and fingers uncurled and relaxed.

Dean offered up an awkward thanks to whomever had listened and deemed it time relieve his brother from his pain and smiled down at a red faced Sam. As if having head splitting impending doom nightmarish visions aren't enough, the constant stares and wide eyes of concern from complete strangers after the fact were almost as uncomfortable as the expected migraine he knew was next in the very long list of reasons he needed to invest in ultra strong painkillers. Damn though if Sam didn't make the funniest faces when he was embarrassed about something.

"Hey, you doing okay?"

Okay, now Sam was officially freaked. 'Yeah, like I wasn't on the deep end already.' he snarked to himself. Sure, he has death visions. Sure he used telekinesis once. Yeah, he hunts things that only show up in bad horror movies and books. And of course he has been known to have his own personal spidey senses that go off every now and then, but this? He didn't want to say insane though it did seem to be his word for the day. . .

"Uh, Sam?" Dean sounded concerned.

'No duh, dumbass.' Sam thought irritably. "Yeah Dean?"

"You alright?"

Sam recognized the code for: Any evil sonuvabitches we need to waste? "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." Actually 'shit' would probably have described how he was feeling more accurately. He still had the raw throat, chest pressure, shaky muscles, the constant want to cough, and his headache had just gotten a promotion. But of course, other than that. . . he was just peachy!

Sam could've sworn that he heard a few moans of disappointment making their way through the now thankfully dwindling crowd. 'Nice to know they were looking for excitement at my expense.' he thought sarcastically.

With Dean and Colin's help he pushed himself off the ground and gave a reassuring smile to the remaining onlookers, sending them off back to study their books. Colin stood back a little to give him air and nodded his head over to a small drinking fountain. "You want some water?"

Sam shook his head slowly - very slowly. His brain wasn't ready for anything faster - and smiled. "Nah. I think I'll just head to bathroom for a sec."

Two steps and one cough later he rolled his eyes and stared at Dean who had yet to release his hold on the younger's arm. "Dude, I'm perfectly capable of walking a couple feet to splash cold water on my face by myself."

Dean jerked back in surprise. He hadn't realized that he still had Sam in a death grip since he had recovered. Recovered. . . That's such a stupid word. Nobody ever gets completely better. And even if you are physically well, your memories are going to haunt you forever. God Dean hated semantics. "Uh, right. I guess I'll just stay here with, uh, Colin." He stuttered.

Sam granted them a small smile and then walked - well it more of a stumble and sway - to the restrooms in the back of the library, leaving the two behind to stand in silence.

The bathroom, opposed to the size of the building it resided in, was quite large. 'Probably takes up half the space of the library itself' he thought with some amusement as he shut the squeaking door and slowly walked over to the sinks in the front corner.

-:- A narration by Kerri B.

Fate is a funny thing, if not really fickle at times.

It's the small things in life that lead a person to make larger decisions that in turn will affect a choice somebody else makes that could impact somebody's entire life. The little things such as brushing your teeth.

Yes, you brush your teeth. No big deal.

But then one day you decide to choose a new brand of toothpaste. Again, so what? Well by getting a different brand who knows the consequences. Maybe somebody saw you buy it and decided to get it too. Good for you! You just saved somebody five minutes of indecision. What you didn't know though was that by leaving the store five minutes early that person got caught in a fatal car accident and died, leaving a husband and her two children behind.

Makes brushing your teeth seem a little more significant now, doesn't it?

In Dean's case, brushing his teeth that morning resulted in taking an extra minute before waking up Sam and therefore, took him an extra minute to go out and get breakfast. By leaving a minute later he made all the traffic lights which resulted in the death of squirrel named Chuck who had been stealing food from all the neighborhood dogs, causing much chaos and disorder in that certain part of the woods.

I bet you're wondering what this has to do with Sam while he's in the bathroom. Well, normally. . . nothing. But since when has anything concerning this guy been normal? Definitely not this week.

So naturally, what happened next shouldn't have come as a shock to him.

-:- Narration ends

-SUPERNATURAL-

Ending Author notes: Man that chapter was flippin' hard to write! Right up there with chapter three. . . that one was a beast. Okay, sorry about the cliffy but I figured I needed to stop it there or else chapter five may never have ended. Maybe if we're lucky I'll actually write about the doppelgängers next chapter. kicks herself for making you all wait so long Thanks to everyone willing to stick with me on this wild ride.

Also, it has come to my attention that authors asking for reviews is generally considered annoying and mostly has the complete opposite effect of the intended request. So! I have come up with a brilliant plan. I'll have Dean ask for me!

Dean: Push the button. Write a review.

And now for Sam's irresistible puppy dog eyes. . .

And there you have it. You wouldn't want to go against the boy's wishes would you? ;-) - Kerri


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Identity

3:45pm

He had been hiding in the bathroom for hours. Damn his luck.

Of course, how was he supposed to know that _he_ was going to be here.

"Goddamn witch and her spells." He cursed under his breath. "Not even a week and the hunter's already on my trail." He had hoped that the library would be a safe haven. After all, the hunter hated books. But he had shown up nevertheless. Thankfully he'd been able to sneak into the back restrooms before he was spotted, but how long would he have to stay in hiding?

He couldn't risk leaving until he was sure the adversary was gone.

Subconsciously he rubbed the tattoo encircling his right wrist. It was a habit he had picked up whenever he was worried about something. It was a wonder it hadn't been rubbed away with all the worry going on in his life.

That's when the unexpected happened.

A loud squeaking sound reached his ears, announcing the arrival of a tall man as he walked into the bathroom and headed slowly over to the sinks. Finallyཀ

* * *

3:46pm

Okay, Sam had to admit. He did not see this coming.

One minute he was splashing cold water onto his face and staring at his reflection in the mirror, then the next the cold hard steel of a knifes edge was pressing dangerously against the side of his throat. Sam couldn't fathom where it come from. Had he been so out of it he didn't even see somebody sneaking up behind him? Dean would never let him live it down. 'Only if he knows.' that tiny voice in his head whispered mockingly. Why in the world he was thinking about trying to hide this from Dean while he was still in the line of fire, Sam would never know.

"Is he gone?" A harsh voice growled out. It sounded strangely familiar.

"Who?" Sam asked in confusion.

"Tall guy, ratty clothes and eye patch." The knife pressed closer until a small slit opened enough for a steady trickle of blood to come flowing out.

Sam's head was pounding still from the vision and a wave of dizziness and nausea swept over him for a moment. "No, I haven't seen anyone like that."

A dark laugh chuckled softly behind him. "Thanks."

Not a second later and the pressure from the knife was removed. . . and then replaced by a burning, gut wrenching pain flaring from his left side. "Agh." Sam fell to the floor in agony as his hand tried to find the offending object causing the discomfort. His fingers wrapped around the previously used dagger that was now protruding from his side, right above his hip bone and the dark crimson blood was pouring out like it was Christmas morning.

The grating squeak of the swinging door sounded in his ears as it opened and closed, letting it known that his attacker had fled.

Blood was quickly covering the tiles on the floor as Sam lay still on his back. "Dean." What he hoped was a yell for his brother turned out to be more of a pitiful whisper for help. 'Dean will find me.' he thought with an unfelt hope.

'Only if he finds out.'

* * *

3:50pm

The adrenaline rush that always followed the sight and smell of blood was exhilarating to say the least. He was ecstatic.

Ever since wasting that female hunter, Danielle, he had felt the insatiable desire for more. . . until now. He had never had such a buzz before. A small laugh escaped his lips as he rushed down the library hall to the nearest exit. He hadn't even killed the guy. Just a stab. It's too bad he didn't actually see the victims face. . . he would have liked to come back for more. 'If he doesn't bleed out that is.' he thought happily to himself.

Engrossed in his thoughts and still high from the recent experience in the bathroom he didn't even glance at the two people standing at the end of the hall with expectant faces as he approached. He also didn't see them as he pushed by them and rushed outside into the open air.

He didn't hear as the taller one called out for him as his vision was focused on one thing. A car. He needed something fast and it was sitting right there. In all of its sleek black glory sat a '67 Chevy Impala just begging to be taken. Without a second thought he rushed over, smashed in a window, jumped inside, and hot-wired it in less then twenty seconds.

A loud squeal of tires was all that could be heard as he drove out of the lot in a blazing line of glory, leaving dark black rubber marks on the pavement as the only sign he had been there. . .

* * *

3:50pm

Dean watched expectantly as he saw the tall silhouette of his brother exit from the bathroom, trotting toward him at a rapid pace. The dimmed hallway lights cast dark shadows across his face, hiding some of his features but the elder could tell that he was excited about something.

'Maybe he figured out whatever's been bothering him for the last few days.' He thought hopefully.

But Sam wasn't even looking at him. His eyes were glued to the library exit doors as if trying to run from something. But what?

Not a second later and he was right in front of him. Dean reached out his hand to place it on his brother's shoulder.

"Sam- heyཀ" Dean stood in confused shock as his brother roughly pushed him out of the way to get to the exit. Sunlight streamed from the open door, blinding Dean temporarily until it closed again, leaving him in synthetic light coming from the library ceiling. "Sam, what are you doing?"

The younger didn't show that he heard him as he smiled while standing still for a moment before he began to laugh excitedly and then run over to the Impala sitting peacefully in the parking lot. "What the hell?" Dean muttered quietly. Why would Sam be going to his car without him? It's not like he was going anywhere without the keys. . .

Both Dean and Colin pushed open the glazed over doors to follow him. "Samཀ" Dean yelled one more time to the turned back of his brother before he was stunned by the sound and sight of shattering glass assaulting his senses. He couldn't believe what was happening.

With mouth agape, he watched as his brother hopped through his car's window and hot-wired the vehicle, leaving burn marks on the gravel below as he screeched away. 'Sammy?' What was going on? Dean stood there in stunned confusion unable to process in his mind what had just taken place. Sam. . . stole. . . his car. His baby. Why? What reason could there be? Did something happen in the bathroom. Just as he was about to go check that theory out a small whistle interrupted his inner thoughts.

"Dude. . . was that Sam?"

Dean suddenly remembered he was with Colin. He licked his dry lips and cleared his throat in an attempt to make talking easier. "Uh, yeah."

"You want to try and catch up to him?"

"He took my car." It sounded so stale in his mouth.

"We can take mine." Colin offered.

Dean nodded in agreement and followed the kid over to where his car was parked. He was going to find his brother, make sure he was alright, and then pound him into a day that doesn't end in 'y' until the younger swears to never pull a stunt like that again.

Dean smiled at the thought. Like he could make his brother do - or not do - anything. Sam had never been the 'Do as I say, not as I do' sort of person. He was more of the 'Live by example' kinda guy. It was a characteristic Dean had been mostly proud of, but at times. . . dealing with a stubborn ass like his brother could be a real bitch sometimes. . .

'I'm coming Sammy. I'm not going to make you go through whatever this is alone.' Dean silently swore to both his brother and himself. If it were up to Dean, Sam would never be alone. Never.

* * *

3:55pm

Sam could hear Dean calling out his name from. . . somewhere. Not here.

Dean wasn't here.

Sam was alone.

But Dean was yelling for him. He must know something was wrong.

"Dean." Sam attempted to make himself heard but the deep roaring in his ears was making it difficult to tell if he was screaming or just mouthing the word. "Dean. . . help."

Why wasn't he here yet? Surely he didn't get lost.

Dean was yelling his name again.

Why did it sound farther away?

The sticky crimson liquid was pooling ominously around his fingertips as he tried to reign in his wild thoughts. Breathing was becoming increasingly harder and the pain in his side - no pun intended - covered up any agony that had previously been at the expense of his throat. His head was pulsing in a steady erratic beat as his blood rushed up, causing intense pressure in his skull.

'Looks like you're on your own Sammy boy.' his inner voice taunted him mercilessly. 'Let's see how you do without big brother coming to the rescue.'

His eyelids were like heavy weights he wasn't prepared to lift; his breaths coming out in thick unrhythmic gasps for air. His hair fell forward in an attempt to shield his eyes from taking in the sight of the red splatters surrounding him in a kaleidoscope of one color. His hands were rendered useless as one was placed on his throat like a temporary patch and the other wrapped around the handle of the scarlet covered blade conveniently placed a little above arms length.

He was screwed.

Even if the blade hadn't penetrated a vital organ, at this rate he was going to bleed to death.

The inner geek suggested he start timing himself to see how long it would take to lose enough blood to pass out.

But the rest of him screamed out the survival instinct.

Already weakened by the recent vision and the sickness he had been fighting, the odds at even being able to roll over were looking pitifully slim. Damn his luckཀ Or lack thereof. . .

'Just keep breathing.' he coached himself silently then gasped when a sharp pain snaked through his chest as a protest to the meager amount of oxygen he had managed to suck in. 'Dammitཀ' Sam knew at that moment that he had cracked at least one rib on the descent to the tiled floor earlier. What was worse was that he was now seeing stars. Or maybe they were fireworks. They were different colors after all.

He fought to control his eyes from rolling up and sending him off to the land of darkness kindly offering him a place away from the pain he was suffering, but it was no use. The blackness grabbed him by the scruff and dragged him into it's cold embrace, leaving his last memory being the increasingly irritating squeak of the bathroom door and the sound of a panicked female scream echoing around the large walls.

'Yeah.' Was his last thought. 'I'm just that hot. . .'

* * *

Witness Statement - Months later

-:- Maria Castes / Age: 20 / Occupation: Ex- library 'toilet scrubber' (her words, not mine)

If I had known what I was I going to find at work today, I probably would have just called in sick. It would have saved me a hell of a lot of time and I wouldn't have missed my favorite TV show. Yeah right, like you wouldn't have done the same thing. Walking into the mens bathroom, expecting to find fluids in only the toilet and then stumbling across a bleeding to death body on the ground isn't exactly what _I_ call a good time. Sure. . . I admit the guy was super hot - I mean the hairཀ God the way it fell across his face. . . I couldn't really see his eyes but he had _great_ shoulders. . . sigh

Anyway.

He was bleeding all over the tiles on the ground. I thought he was dead so I screamed. Yeah, one of those screams that should raise the dead and are strictly prohibited from being used in a public library. Needless to say, despite the circumstances, I lost my job. Damn my shrill voice and lung capacity. . . Well at least I won't be the one on clean up duty for that fiasco.

So it turns out that the guy was only unconscious. Thank you sweet Lord. Ladies around the globe may now sleep in peace. I stayed with him at the doctors bidding when no family or friends could be found immediately. - Though honestly, I didn't need any convincing after I realized I had an excuse to run my fingers through his angelic hair. . . Sorry. I tend to ramble when I'm nervous. Or excited. . . or angry, or confused, or sad, depressed, happy. . . Actually, I just like to hear the sound of my own voice and had no problem in blessing his unconscious sexy ears with hours of it. I wondered if he had a brother. If he did, was he also a 'chick' magnet? Probably.

The guy's ID was missing and so was his cellphone- Assuming he had one in the first place - so we didn't really know who to contact about his condition. He had just got out of surgery and then in recovery right after. They were allowing me to be with him but I hoped that he would wake up soon. Not only because I wanted to see his eyes, but because I had a feeling that he's important to someone. . . and that someone was important to him.

-:- Narration ends

* * *

4:56pm

"Yeah, I'm just that hot."

Samuel rubbed distractedly at his wrist tattoo with his left hand while the right remained holding onto the leather patented steering wheel of the best car he had ever stolen. He had just discovered a pair of sunglasses in the glove compartment and marveled at how it seemed that they were made for him. The fit was perfect, and it screamed 'badass with attitude'. Hence the recent remark on how 'hot' he was. Well it wasn't like he was bragging. He had run into a thousand girls who were practically paying him to jump into bed with them. And who was he to tell them that there was no Santa.

He laughed at all the memories and then turned the wheel to the right, completely disregarding the 'no turn on red' sign in front of him. The sun was on the verge of leaving afternoon and becoming evening and he still had yet to find somewhere to sleep and something to eat.

He sighed with resignation. He really should have brought the guy from the library bathroom with him. The buzz effect from the mere stabbing was beginning to wear off and Samuel was unquestionably starting to miss it. Drugs were a poor comparison to the high he had been feeling earlier.

Well, he should have thought about that while he was there. It was too late to go crying about it now.

A small movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention and caused his head to turn to see what it was about.

A wicked smile tugged playfully at his lips as he cut the engine of the Impala in front of an ominous looking alleyway and opened the door to exit the vehicle.

"Looks like I'll be eating out."

* * *

4:56pm

Dean and Colin had been following Sam for about an hour now and it didn't seem like the wayward brother had any idea where he was going.

"Maybe he just needed to clear his head?" Colin suggested about thirty minutes ago.

Dean had glared at him and then roughly pointed out that if he wanted to clear his head he would have taken a walk and not smashed in the Impala's window to go out on a joyride.

Colin agreed and continued to follow Sam.

Just as he was about to admit that they needed to stop for gas Dean yelled out to turn right.

"Right manཀ" Dean yelled out. "He turned rightཀ"

"It says 'no turn on red'." Colin pointed out.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on. You pick now to announce what an upstanding citizen you want to be?"

Colin merely grinned and winked over at the elder, letting his blue eyes sparkle with mischief. "Are you kidding? I have a reputation to keep hereཀ"

With a sharp jerk of the wheel and squeal of the tires, Dean was almost thrown into the passenger window from the momentum of shooting between traffic and just nearly missing a truck in pursuit of his brother.

Colin sped up a little to keep up with the pace the Impala in front of them had taken while laughing quietly to himself at the surprised expression Dean had pasted onto his face. "What? If you wanted The Fast and the Furious, all you had to do was ask." Colin laughed again in obvious entertainment.

It took a minute but Dean joined him with a few chuckles of his own before breaking out in amused hysteria. "God kidཀ I haven't seen a move like that since I was thirteen and wanted to be the next-"

Dean's praise of the kid's driving ability was cut off as suddenly as engine of the vehicle in front of them. "He stopped?" Dean asked, confused as he glanced around at the location. "Here?"

Colin seemed equally bewildered. He hadn't known Sam as long as Dean, but this didn't seem like a place the guy would boast of having a good time.

He cut off his engine and Dean stepped out of the car quietly, walking over to Colin's window. "Thanks for the lift man. I guess I can handle it from here." He offered up a smile that didn't reach his worry filled eyes.

Colin nodded in understanding. "Just tell me how it all turns out." With that he backed out of the one car road and headed out to the main division.

Dean watched the car until it merged in with traffic before he picked up the pace to follow Sam who had disappeared behind the alleyway corner and lost sight of him. It didn't matter though. . .

What he heard was enough. . .

* * *

Ending Author notes: Yesཀ We have made contact with a doppelgängerཀ dances for joy Of course you probably all hate me for Sam. . .

Extra note: To make this all easier on the reader, once I had (hopefully) established that this doppelgänger looked like (is) Sam, I'm going to try to keep referring to him as 'Samuel'. This way there will be a slight distinction between the two and you will hopefully be able to keep track on which is which.

Extra, extra note: No fear. There will be plenty of ConfusedཀDean and probably HurtཀDean too. This wasn't meant to be a complete Samcentric fic. I love Deanཀ His time is coming. . . - Kerri


	8. Chapter 7

**Quick Note:** Before we begin this chapter I would just like to thank everybody who has taken the time to read and review. Your words always mean so much to me, and to know that you really are enjoying it is the best thing ever. (If you post stories, you know what I mean) So, I hope you continue to read, and I hope I can continue to keep you coming back for more. - Kerri

**Chapter Seven: What's in a Name?**

5:00pm (Still Monday. . .)

The alley was dark.

Samuel thrived in the darkness. Practically was raised in it. It was when he was at his strongest, and he would always take full advantage of that. It was a place of calm.

Darkness surrounds you; calls to you in its silent embrace. You can feel safe in the dark. Nothing can touch you. But the blackness of it cannot hide the faces of those you try to forget. Young and old; male and female. . . He saw them all. They plagued his waking hours and his nightmares, begging to him, pleading with him. Their pitiful cries for mercy falling on deaf ears. If only. . . If only he truly could not hear them. Their screams. . . hundreds of them forever haunting his every step. Mocking him in despair. Driving him to the edge. . .

The detailed black and blue flames that surrounded his wrist began to burn with a vengeance causing him to cry out in agony.

"Sam!" A terrified female voice called out in his head. "Sam help me!"

Samuel fell to the ground from the pressure building behind his skull and the flaring pain emanating from his now strangely glowing body art. The cool pavement was eager to greet him with a spray of hard pebbles and small shards of thankfully dull glass.

"Sammy! Please!" The cry was louder; echoing inside his head until another voice called out to him. It was also female.

"Why Sam?" This voice was lighter and more calm, which brought a more violent reaction from the fallen man. "Why?"

"Leave me alone!" He called out, head tucked firmly between his hands as he writhed on the ground, trying to rid himself of the wave of emotions threatening to drown him in their misery and confusion.

"Why me?" And then: "I loved you Sammy. . ."

"Stop it!" Samuel screamed out again. The radiating shine of the tattoo around his right wrist was now numbing down to a dull throb and the color was beginning to resume its dark hue. He lay still, his breathing labored as he tried to get a hold on his surroundings.

"Sam?" Samuel shook his head in confusion. The man's voice wasn't in his head. . . but he knew his name? "Sam!"

Staying conscious was beginning to become a real problem. His eyelids snapped shut, refusing to let him see the nearing figure. 'It doesn't matter.' Samuel thought bitterly and then succumbed to the calling darkness.

* * *

5:00pm

Dean watched the car until it merged in with traffic before he picked up the pace to follow Sam who had disappeared behind the alleyway corner and lost sight of him. It didn't matter though. . .

What he heard was enough. . .

"Leave me alone!"

The cry was enough to send chills down Dean's back and then back up again. It also encouraged his adrenaline to kick in, giving him an extra burst of speed to find out whatever was causing his brother to yell out in pain.

Just as he rounded the corner Sam fell to the ground, twisting away from an invisible tormentor. "Stop it!"

Dean's heart froze cold at his brother's final scream of torture, and then ran over to his side. Sam had stopped moving and breaths were coming in short gasps. His skin was clammy and paler than Dean had remembered seeing last.

"Sam?" Dean shook his shoulder, hoping to get his brother to look at him. "Sam!"

Nothing. Well, except that Sam's eyelids were still scrunched together like he was suffering more mental abuse from an unseen enemy.

Dean took his hand off his shoulder and prepared to lift the fallen brother when he spotted the smear of crimson lacing the edges of his fingers and palm. 'Oh God no.' Dean begged silently then turned Sam over to inspect his source, sucking in his breath when he saw the large rip in the shirt beginning at the top of his back, followed by a series of cuts trailing down between where his shoulder blades would be and around his side.

'He _would_ pick the glass covered alley.' Dean thought sarcastically, purposely ignoring the fact that every other alley probably had the same amount of broken booze bottles anyway. "Alright Sammy boy, you have exactly three seconds to wake up 'cause I'm not carrying your heavy ass back to the car. No dragging either."

"One."

Sam didn't even stir.

"Two."

A lonely newspaper blew by his face in an attempt to feel important. (Its previous owner had just abandoned it there so it was feeling very insignificant and rather worthless)

Dean didn't even bother with 'three' knowing it wasn't going to do much good anyway. With a dramatic sigh he hefted his brother over his shoulder fireman style and grabbed the annoying newspaper off the ground. The newspaper was happy. Dean was not.

"You'll have a hell of a lot of explaining to do once you wake up dude. And don't even try to get out of it. You'll talk or else I'll have to. . ." Dean glared over at the silent Sam. "Don't worry. I have plenty of time to think of something. I have a feeling you won't be up for while."

He started the Impala and then went through the motions of rolling down his window, hoping to trick his mind into thinking it was just down and not shattered into a million pieces over the library parking lot. It wasn't really working. "Bitch."

Somehow, it wasn't the same without the expected lame ass come back. . .

* * *

Day 3: Tuesday at 7:14am

'Shut' was the first word that came to his mind. 'Up' was the second.

Who the hell thought it was funny to wake a guy up by incessantly chattering in their ear about absolutely nothing? He sure didn't. He tried to open his eyes to identify the offending person but his eyelids seemed convinced that they should stay closed. Maybe they were right, but that wasn't going to keep him from expressing his frustration.

"Mm." Wow, that'll teach them. Lame!

Well, lame or not it seemed to get his point across as the voice stopped. For a minute anyway before: "Doc! Doc get in here! I think he's waking up!"

God! Now she was screaming! He was at least comforted that though his eyes were going to play hooky, his ears were trying to compensate by revealing that his tormentor was indeed female. Fat lot of good that did him. . .

"Doctor!" She shrieked out again.

"I'm here." The doctor puffed out irritably. Looked like - or sounded like, as it were - he wasn't the only one about to take a gun to his head.

* * *

7:15am

Maria was practically jumping up and down as the doctor entered the room. "He's waking up!"

"I heard you, I heard you." The doctor - whose name was Phillip - waved her off as he examined the previously unconscious patient. "What makes you think he's waking up?"

"I heard him." Maria explained brightly. "He said 'Mm'. He must be coming around." She then cocked her head to the side and looked hopefully at Dr. Phil (Ha freakin' ha. Like he didn't get enough jokes about that at work. . .) "Right?"

"I say if you heard him that he'll be awake in no time." No time of course meaning anytime between now and the next few days. Maybe even weeks. It's a slow process.

"But his eyes aren't open." Phillip smiled kindly at the sincere worry in her voice. She really seemed like such an open hearted person. Probably had a closet full of broken hearts. . .

"I wouldn't worry about that. He's just coming out of a short coma so it makes sense that his eyes would have a hard time opening. His ears should work just fine though so he can probably hear you."

Little did he know that with such an innocent statement he had just doomed a defenseless man to hours of Maria's rambling about things duller than the weather. . . and that was only after she had finished talking about the weather.

Not that Maria didn't have a nice voice, in fact it was beautiful. Women everywhere would envy to have a voice like hers, but it just kept going. . . and taking a breath between sentences didn't seem like too much to ask.

Apparently it was. . .

* * *

Earlier that Tuesday morning at 6:00am

Dean watched his brother sleep from the other side of the motel room. He hadn't even closed his eyes that night, slumber taunting his inability to catch it. But he didn't really want to sleep, which was good because he couldn't have even if he had wanted to.

Last night, when he had brought Sam back to the motel, he had gone with the usual routine of tending to the wounded first. Laying his brother on the bed, he had carefully removed Sam's shirt and nearly threw up. It wasn't the long laceration made by the broken glass from the alley floor that made him want to visit the porcelain goddess, it was all the other injuries creating a quite colorful mural around his entire upper torso.

It couldn't have been right. Sure, they had gone on plenty of hunts recently, but the last couple were played out with Sam staying at the motel and researching while Dean wasted the evil demon. Dean would come back with the cuts that needed tending to, the sprains to get iced, the bruises that healed- not Sam!

But the body before him told a completely different story. There were scars lining all around his ribcage, bruises wrapped around from his stomach to his sides, but all of those were older. It wasn't the old injuries Dean was worried about. It was the newly healing claw slashes that streaked from the top of his left shoulder to the middle of his right hip. What was worse was the sickly green tinge the edges were beginning to take on.

How could Sam have not said anything?

But what was Sam doing that would explain these claw marks? They were gigantic. Was he hunting without him? Why would he do that?

Dean's head spun around, trying to find a plausible explanation for those aged and new injuries, but nothing made any sense. Everything he could think of always brought him back to the same question he had been asking since he had removed his brother's shirt. "Why didn't Sam tell me?"

* * *

7:15am

His head hurt. A lot.

And so did his shoulders. And back. Oh, and his side, chest, and- well everything hurt. That wasn't what woke him up though. He was always in pain. He could deal with the pain. This was different. Sure, he ached a little, but. . . the actual pain was gone. Why?

Samuel struggled to open his eyes as they fought for their right to remain closed, but he won in the end and with triumph, his eyelids snapped open. With a pitiful moan, he scrunched them back shut when rays of sunlight streamed in past the ugly brown and puke green curtains. Ugh. It smelled awful in here too.

"Sam?"

His eyes flew open one more time and he instantly shot up into a sitting position on the bed as he tried to find the source of the voice. His eyes were blurry but they finally focused on the single figure sitting on a chair a couple feet away from him. He recognized him. . .

The man stood up and walked over to Samuel in a slow saunter. Samuel's first instinct was to put his hands up in defense, but he sensed no danger, so he remained still when the sandy haired man placed his hand on his forehead.

"Your temperature is normal. How are you feeling? Sore at all?" The man sat down next to him and fixed a concerned stare into his eyes. "Sammy?"

It hit him like a semi truck smashing into a pushcart. This was Dean! The 'other' Dean. It was amazing how similar the two were, yet so different. This Dean seemed less ragged and his eyes were. . . caring? For him?

She had told him that things were going to be different when he arrived, but he hadn't envisioned this. This was. . . bewildering. But if he was here with Dean, where was the other Sam?

'Doesn't matter,' he thought bitterly. 'Yet, anyway.'

"Hey. . . brother."

Instant emotions welled up inside of him. One word. One word he had never, yet secretly always longed to say. Brother. Something he had never felt before pushed against the invisible walls he had put up but he held them at bay, unwilling to let this feeling interfere with the plan. Nothing would keep him from his goal.

Dean smiled for a moment before standing back up and grabbing the keys to the Impala. "I, um, I'm going to run and get us something to eat. Oh, and we need to talk when I get back."

Fear clutched around Samuel's heart. The witch hadn't given him many details about this place, or about the people in it. If Dean knew who he was, Samuel didn't know how strong the man was going to be. He had to keep the charade going for as long as possible, or at least until he could set his plan in motion. If Dean suspected something, then he would have to try and persuade him otherwise. "What about?" He asked cautiously.

Something flashed in Dean's eyes before they softened again and he opened the door to exit the motel room. "Everything Sammy."

With one more blink, he closed the door behind him, and Samuel watched him as he headed over to his. . . "Crap!" Of all the cars he had to choose from to steal yesterday, he had taken Dean's. Why did things like this always happen to him? Of course, how was he supposed to know that it was his car? God, for a supposed psychic wonder, he never was very good at looking ahead.

But that was why he was here, right? To improve. To gain more. He ran his hand through his nearly black hair and sighed. This was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

* * *

7:30am

Dean wanted to punch something.

When did he get all nervous about stuff like this? Why the hell was he standing in line at some mom n' pop diner instead of demanding explanations from Sam?

Was it his subconscious telling him that it didn't matter? That it was none of his business? Dean scoffed at that. That wasn't why he couldn't bring it up. That wasn't why he couldn't call his brother on all the shit he had been feeding him. He couldn't do it because he was afraid. Afraid of the answers. Afraid that Sam would tell him that this was all his fault- that he was somehow responsible.

And he was. He had to be. How else could Sammy have been hurt that severely and him not notice? Maybe this was all a test. A sick test to find out how much Dean actually cared and paid attention. Would Sam do that? Dean couldn't believe it. But then what was it?

Why the hell didn't Sam say anything? The wounds were infected for Christ's sake! The bruises had been stacking on top of each other, and the cuts were nothing to be messing with. They should have been cleaned and wrapped up, but instead they were left in the open, just begging for more infection to settle in.

Dean didn't understand it. How could Sam do that to himself? He knew his brother wouldn't inflict that kind of damage to himself, but it wasn't like him to just let it go untended. Something was way off, and Dean was afraid to find out what it is.

His number was called and he quickly walked over to the counter to collect his order of bagels, donuts and coffee. Grabbing small containers of butter and cream cheese, he paid (Well, Mr. Bob Dylan did anyway) the patron behind the counter, and slowly exited the building.

He might not know how to talk to Sam now, but he had a fifteen minute drive to think of a way.

He sighed heavily at the sight of his Impala sitting in the parking lot with one less window than she had twenty-four hours ago. He hoped it wasn't a sign. Patting on the hood lightly he placed the paper bags in the passenger seat. "I'm sorry baby. I'll get you fixed up in no time. I promise."

A promise. Didn't he make a promise to Sam once?

_As long as I'm around Sam, nothing's going to happen to you. I promise._

_Don't make promises you can't keep Dean. You can't stop everything that's thrown at me._

_I can try. That's a promise._

Dean had to hold back from slamming his fist into the car's siding. He made a promise. And if Sam's now mutilated body was any indication, he had failed. Failed his own brother. A brother who didn't even trust him enough to ask for help when he was obviously hurting.

Struggling to push down the emotions threatening to break through, he slid into the drivers seat and cranked up his Metallica tapes volume to an almost unbearable level; his eardrums preparing to burst. But he needed it that way, needed something to drown out the pain his memories brought him.

He sped away from the diner, ignoring each and every speed limit sign as he rushed back to the motel. He needed to see Sam. Needed to talk to him. Anything. He just needed to know that he was okay, because he couldn't bear to fail him anymore.

* * *

7:45am

"Sam?"

Dean didn't know why, but he walked cautiously into the motel room, letting the door ominously screak as it closed slowly behind him. The room looked empty; the laptop was off, the beds were still unmade, and Sam was nowhere in sight. But Dean had only been gone for thirty minutes. . . he had told Sam that he'd be back soon. Where was he though?

"Sammy?"

He called out a little louder, trying to make up for the deafening silence that surrounded him. But no answer came, not a sound to be heard. For some reason Dean had suddenly gotten very nervous. But before he could say anything more, a small crash was heard in the bathroom.

"Sam!" Dropping the food bags carelessly on the ground, Dean rushed over to the tiny room and banged on the door. "Sam! Sam are you in there?"

There was a small pause before: "Dean?"

"Yeah. I heard a crash dude. Is everything okay in there?"

"Um, yeah. Just give me a second."

Dean noted that his brother sounded anxious about something, but decided to ignore it when the door clicked open and Sam stood in front of him. He was now fully dressed and his hair was wet so Dean assumed that he had showered. But what was weird was that instead of just letting the unruly locks fall where they may, they were slicked back in a classy kind of way- except for one or two smaller strands that fell strategically over his forehead, giving him a boyish rogue appearance.

Dean blinked a couple of times before gathering his wit and plastering a smirk on his face. "Imagine that. All that work and you still don't measure up to my devilishly handsome good looks." He shook his head and jokingly coughed out: "Christo."

Sam's brows instantly furrowed and his eyes flashed dangerously. "I'm not a demon." He hissed out as his fists clenched tightly against his side.

Dean was shocked at how much anger that one sentence contained. He hadn't meant to make him mad. 'Nice job on that one Dean' Dean cocked his head to the side. "Is your hair darker?"

"What?" Sam's hand went up but surprisingly he didn't run back into the bathroom to see for himself. His eyes lost their hard glint and he laughed with amusement. "Dude, you need to get glasses."

"Glasses?" Dean scrunched up his nose in revulsion.

"Yeah. Maybe those really big horn rimmed kind."

"Shit Sam! Are you trying to give me nightmares?" Dean's lip twitched at the friendly banter he hadn't realized he missed till now. Though maybe Sam was right. He really had thought that his brother's hair was darker. Almost black. . . Had it always been like that?

Dean noticed that his brother was eyeing him anxiously.

"What?"

A strange look passed over Sam's face but Dean watched as the younger quickly recovered and shrugged nonchalantly. "Uh, nothing man. So didja get something to eat? I'm starving."

Dean hated moments like this. He hadn't even started the 'interrogation' and his brother was already shutting him out. 'Great way to start the chick flick heart to heart' He snarked to himself while nodding. "Yeah, I didn't know what you felt like today, so I just got a variety."

"Aw, you really do care about me." Sam placed his hand lightly over his heart and batted his eyelashes mockingly, but he smiled brightly when he saw the donuts.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Just shut up and eat jerk."

Sam complied willingly and grabbed the first chocolate donut while taking a seat. Dean followed in suit, but a little more hesitantly. He also picked up a chocolate breakfast sweet but merely turned it over in his palm a couple of times before sighing and putting it back down. "Sam. We need to talk."

"I thought you told me to shut up." The statement came out thickly between the pastry the younger had shoved into his mouth two seconds earlier.

"I'm being serious."

"Well then," A few more chews and he swallowed the sweet with obvious pleasure. "What on your mind?"

Dean took in a couple of breaths. God, this wasn't supposed to be so hard. "You're lying to me. You've been lying to me, and I want to know why."

* * *

7:46am

'He knows! Dammit he knows!'

Samuel opened his mouth in shock but Dean cut him off, unaware that his voice was steadily rising. "We're a team man! Brothers. And with what we do. . . we can't keep secrets like this. What the hell aren't you telling me?"

Wait a minute. Maybe Dean didn't know anything. Samuel breathed a sigh of relief and grinned on the inside. 'Man. Sam here must really like his secrets. I wonder what _he_ could be keeping from Dean. . .' He slowly shook his head in confusion. "I, uh, I really don't know what you're talking about." Maybe playing ignorant was the best way to go. Besides, he really had no idea what was going on anyway. . .

"What the hell Sam? I'm not in the mood to play twenty questions!"

Whoever said ignorance is bliss, was a complete idiot. If only he really _did_ know what the Sam here was hiding. At least then he would have something to tell the angry Dean in front of him. He really never had to deal with something like this before. 'First time for everything I guess.'

"Dean, seriously. Is there something specific that's bothering you?"

"Yeah, sure. Um. . . hey! Let's start with all those bruises- no! I want to talk about those cuts. Wait. . . How about you explain the frickin' gigantic claw marks you're sporting so proudly. And green must be the new peach 'cause I can't see any other reason why you wouldn't have gotten all those wounds cleaned out! Why in all the freakin' world didn't you tell me about them? What the hell are you thinking?"

Samuel was shocked into still silence. Then he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. "You. . . you saw those?"

Dean's voice lowered back down to indoor levels. "Of course I saw them. How could I miss it all? It's a good thing the first aid kit was full since I thought I was only going to have to deal with a cut up back from the alley."

Samuel opened his eyes in time to see the elder rub his hand over his forehead in frustration. "Why Sammy? Why didn't you say anything? And how did you get them in the first place? You haven't been on the actual battle field for about a month now. Those wounds are only a few days old. A week at most."

Samuel needed an excuse- right now. He knew the truth was going to be unacceptable because then it would reveal who he really was, but not answering would also have Dean breathing down his back, which in turn would be a sure fire way to have his cover blown. Well, this was it. Do or Die. Except if this all got screwed up, Dean was going to be the one dead on the floor; not him.

'Here goes nothing.'

* * *

Ending Author notes: Whoohoo! Another chapter successfully written. Hopefully the brotherly (well, sorta) angst was to your liking- I've never had much confidence in my ability to write that so well. But what about poor Sammy? Don't worry, I have not forgotten about our injured hero.

Extra note: Believe it or not, there really is a reason as to why Samuel showed up, so Woo! I hope to let clues fall as the story continues, but at some point all will be revealed. (I promise!)

Extra, extra note: Stupid plot bunnies won't quit biting me. I think I need to invest in a muzzle. . .

Your completely half-baked writer friend - Kerri


	9. Chapter 8

**Before I begin:** I just want to say thank you to my sister has unknowingly been beta-ing me from the beginning. (Should have seen her face when I told her) lol So, Thanks sis! And now for you faithful readers who have been sticking around and waiting for the next chapter, here we go:

**Chapter Eight: Forgotten Memories**

(Tuesday continues. . .) 11:00am

He had been weaving in and out of consciousness for a couple of hours now. It was almost irritating to be constantly pulled out of his peaceful dreamless rest only to be reminded that he couldn't fully wake up either. But maybe, maybe one of these times he would finally win the battle and open his eyes. Maybe that time was now. . .

Nope.

His eyelids still refused to cooperate. Damn them to hell and beyond.

Wait a minute. . .

He concentrated hard on one thing: opening his eyes. 'Come on. You can do it. Just a little. . .' He could feel sweat beginning to form under his hairline and above his eyebrows from the exertion. It was a several minute struggle but he refused to lose. Not again. He didn't know why, but somehow he felt that failure was never an option.

Little by little, his eyes cracked open, allowing a thin stream of light to shine into his unprepared pupils.

"Gah!" He flinched on instinct and tried to bring his hand up to shield his eyes but something was holding it down. Panic filled his entire being and while squinting through his half closed eyes he tried to free himself from whatever was hindering his movement. Using the pitiful strength he had held in reserve, he tried to move his arm again but failed. That left him with only one other option and he wasn't afraid to use it.

"AHHHHHHH!" He screamed out loudly, daring anyone to not hear him and come running.

"Christ!" He heard another voice scream along with him for a moment before it ended and was replaced by heaving breathing; then a small voice. "Oh my God! You're really awake. Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

He stopped his yelling and rasped through his dry throat. "Can't. . . move arm."

"What? Oh! I'm so sorry." The voice sounded completely embarrassed and he saw the blurry figure suddenly shift away from him. The pressure on his arm instantly lifted, filling him with relief. "I, uh, I think I fell asleep and thought your arm was a pillow. I'm really sorry."

She sounded truly apologetic and sincere. He couldn't really see her all that well, but he knew that his eyes just needed to adjust to the lighting first.

Not a moment later and the door burst open letting exactly six figures rush into the room and stand around his bed.

"What's going on in here? You mind explaining what all that screaming was about? We have patients that are trying to sleep!"

He knew that the strong male voice wasn't really talking to him so he let his thoughts wander to what was going on around him instead. Patients? What was he talking about?

"He woke up! For real!" The female voice sounded so excited that he suddenly had the desire to smile. "Look, his eyes are open! I don't think he can see all that well but he looked at me! Oh, and I think he's thirsty. His voice sounded really raw. . ."

His vision was clearing slowly and he could make out that the woman talking was shorter than anybody else standing in the room and that everybody other than her was wearing a matching white colored coat. The man that had first charged into the room smiled. "That's amazing news Maria. I really appreciate that you've been so dedicated to staying with him." He then turned towards him. "So son, how are you feeling? Can you talk okay?"

He nodded slowly, searching for his voice that had gone missing a second ago. "Yeah." It was as scratchy as a needle passing over an old record player. "Water?" Keep the sentences short. Smart. His eyes had now fully adjusted to the fluorescent lights hanging above him and everything was crystal clear.

He appeared to be in some kind of hospital room. But why would he be here? Did something happen? He carefully shook his head and looked at everybody that surrounded his bed. Who were these people?

"We'll get you water in just a minute." The man in charge - he must be the head doctor - looked down at his small chart and then back at him. "I know it seems sudden but we have a few questions we need to ask you."

Questions? What kind of questions? He hoped they weren't hard ones. . .

"It seems that there were some complications in contacting your family about your condition. Do you have anybody we could call so they could come and be with you? Also, you were missing your ID. Could you give us your name?"

Oh good. Easy questions. 'Let's see. . . Family.' Beat. 'Uh. . .'

The doctor frowned at his hesitation. "Sir?"

He looked back up and shifted his glance between the doctor and the woman named Maria. "Right. Uh. . . family? There's. . ." Nothing. There was nothing. Panic again swept through him and his eyes widened in fear.

The doctor frowned in concern. "Don't worry about it." He assured kindly. "Maybe if you could just tell us your name?"

"Name?" Again he searched through his head and came up with a blank. He squeezed his eyes shut and his hands started to shake violently. "Oh God." He had never felt so unsure, so. . . completely helpless. "I- I don't remember." His voice came out in a quiet shaky whisper.

He could hear the near silent collective gasp coming from every single person gathered in the room. The girl named Maria nervously twisted her fingers.

"I don't remember anything." He repeated as if to convince himself that it was true. His eyes watered as he gazed up at the people around him. "Please. What happened?"

* * *

12:22pm

Amnesia.

That's what Phillip had said. He has amnesia.

He thought that he should probably have been freaking out over this, but instead he felt this strange calm settle over him when he heard the news. The old saying about not missing what you've never had came to mind, and he suddenly felt that the person who first said that was a complete genius.

He didn't really miss it. Not to the point of a total breakdown anyway. In a way, he felt rather refreshed. Here he was, a complete stranger to himself, able to create any kind of life he wanted from this. In truth, it wasn't the future that worried him. It was the small things. . . like what _was _his name? What was his age exactly? Did he like chocolate or vanilla better? Who were his parents? Does he have siblings? Were they brothers or sisters? Did he have a favorite song? Where did he work before? What kind of friends did he have? Did he have a girlfriend? What was he doing that got him sent here, put in a coma and end up with amnesia in the first place?

Questions like these had plagued his thoughts for about an hour and he had yet to form any kind of answer. Doctors and nurses had been in and out, taking blood samples, poking him with needles, and asking him questions he had no answers for.

He could hear the whispers that echoed around the small hospital space he was placed in. Talking about the mystery man without a past. Especially the women. They were constantly stopping and giving him that. . . look. He wasn't sure what look it was exactly but he was positive it didn't have anything to do with his medical condition.

He sighed quietly. He hadn't even seen himself yet. Maybe he was some kind of freak. Maybe he was terribly disfigured and had some kind of diseased looking skin. His arms were held in place by the iv needles poking in the back of his hand, so he couldn't even feel if his nose was hooked or pointed. He couldn't see his hair either. Was he a blond or a brunet? Long hair or short? Maybe he was bald. . .

The nurses had offered to bring him a mirror but he had refused. He couldn't do it yet. He wasn't ready to look at a face he didn't recognize and claim it as his own. What if he didn't like it? What if nobody else did either? He suddenly felt very depressed.

The doctors told him that the girl who talked a lot. . . Maria? That she had been the one to find him at the library. They said that she had been a great help in trying to help in recover his identity. Just earlier that morning she had taken a picture and gone house to house asking if anyone knew him. The motels too. Nobody knew anything.

Maria had stayed with him as long as she could until the doctors told her that now that he was awake there was no reason she had to stick around anymore. He thought that maybe he should have told them that it was okay if she wanted to stay. But something inside of himself stopped him. He didn't know that girl, and she apparently didn't know him. Why start making bonds with a person if they both don't even know who he is?

He had watched her leave with a slight sag in her step. He also saw her dig the picture of him - that a nurse had thrown away - out of the trash and place it carefully in her purse. Maybe when he got out of here he should find her and thank her for all she had done.

Another thought was tickling at the back of his head. Did anyone know that he was here? Did he have anybody waiting for him at home, hoping he would walk in that door and announce that he was okay? Did he even have family? Maybe. . . maybe he was all alone.

A tingling shiver ran down his spine. Alone.

'Always were, and always will be.'

* * *

1:03pm

Dean sagged uncomfortably in the driver's seat of his beloved Impala. This morning had gone every which way to prevent him from getting the answers he needed. First he chickened out and ran for breakfast, then came back and stalled with smalltalk, followed by finally bearing all his questions to Sam only to have the conversation interrupted by an unexpected knock.

Dean still couldn't believe what had happened. One minute, Sam was opening his mouth to explain everything that had been bothering him for the last few days and then the next. . .

Dean sighed. He shouldn't have opened the door. But how was he supposed to know that some chick was out there with a downright stalker type picture of his brother? The conversation was still fresh in his mind; every thought, every feeling that flooded his senses during the encounter. . .

"I'm so sorry to bother you sir, but I was wondering if you know this man?" She pulled out a picture and held it toward him.

Dean rolled his eyes in annoyance until he caught sight of who was in the picture. It was Sam, laying peacefully on what looked like a hospital bed. Dean could see the iv needle sticking from the back of his hand and large bandage wrapped snugly around his shirtless abdomen. There was also a small white bandage covering the front of his throat. The Sam in the picture had his eyes closed in an almost content fashion but Dean couldn't help but notice that he looked so much younger when he was asleep or unconscious. He couldn't tell from the picture which it was.

Who was that woman? What was she doing with an old picture of Sam in a hospital? How did she get it in the first place? How could he have missed some crazed girl taking pictures of his brother while he was recovering in bed? If she hadn't interrupted his one chance at getting some answers, he might have found it all to be kind of funny, but she had, so he didn't.

A hopeful look covered the girl's face when he was silent for a few minutes. "You know him?"

Dean shook his head. He didn't have time for this. And when he didn't have time for something, lying was always the preferred option. "Never seen him before." She looked crestfallen. "Sorry." He added as an afterthought.

"That's alright." She assured him quietly with a sad lilt to her voice. "Nobody else seems to know him either."

The elder clutched tightly at the steering wheel when the memory ended. For some reason that last statement struck a chord in Dean. She was right. Right to the point where it hurt. Nobody knew Sam. No one outside the family anyway. Even then, did he really know his brother? Did his dad? His mind once again flashed back to the scars and cuts that covered his brother's body. How could he live that close to one person and never know who they were?

After he had sent the woman - who was a real knockout. Dean couldn't help but notice that. - away, he turned back to see that Sam had remained sitting but was then diligently eating the bagels and donuts. It was too late. The moment had passed. He didn't know how, but he knew that he wasn't going to get anything from Sam after that.

So here they were now, hours later, on their way to another mom n' pop diner for lunch. Sam hadn't said much since their first conversation and retained that quiet in the car as well. The music was keyed up - though not as loud as earlier - as Journey's 'Ask the Lonely' blaring from the speakers.

"Uh, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you've passed that diner, like, seven times already. We're going in circles." He heard Sam give a light laugh. "Are we going to stop there soon or do you just like to watch other people getting their fill? That seems kind of perverted you know."

"Right, sorry." Dean gave a sharp twist to the wheel and turned into the only space left.

Stepping out of the car, he watched the way Sam carried himself as he walked towards the friendly looking establishment. There was something that wasn't there before. . . something different. It clicked inside his head with a game show 'ding!' Instead of the slow and deliberate strides and cautious mannerisms Sam normally displayed, his brother was walking with a confident swagger, sauntering into the diner as if he didn't have a care in the world.

'Why can't I do that?' Dean asked himself then shook his head. He could. Why not? If Sam was willing to stop letting the weight of world lay on his shoulders and flip it off, there was no reason he couldn't either. His head full of resolve, Dean followed the brunet into the diner and found his brother sitting in the farthest booth like normal. It made sense. Never hurt to be prepared.

He slid into the seat across from Sam and allowed himself to smile. "So man, you had anything you wanted to do this afternoon?"

Sam seemed startled out of the inspection of the menu in his hand. "What? Uh, why?"

"No reason. I guess I just thought we could take a break from investigating Danielle's murder and, you know, do something. Just hang." Dean couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. 'Drop the case? Just hang?' He never did any of that stuff. Yet here he was. . . And strangely enough, the idea sounded appealing.

A strange expression crossed over Sam's face but it was quickly smoothed out with a smile. "Sure. I think I could use a break."

Both brothers laughed together for a moment then turned towards their menus in search of whatever their stomachs craved.

"Well hey there you two." A girl somewhere in her twenties stood next to their table with a pen and a pad in her hand. "I'm Angela. Is there anything you see that's tempting your tastebuds today?"

Dean opened his mouth to reply but Sam beat him to it. "Yeah, there is, but I don't see it anywhere on the menu."

Angela looked worried. "Really? Maybe I can help you find it."

Sam laughed good-naturedly. "No, that's okay. I guess it's not there because it's standing right in front of me." He gave her charming smile - yes, he used those dimples - and winked.

Dean nearly choked on his own spittle. What the hell was up with Sam? He never hit on girls! Especially since he was still tracing raindrops on the Impala window over Jess. Plus, when did he start using pick up lines? As far as he knew, Sam's idea of getting a girl was acting like a bumbling idiot until she felt undeniable pity and asked him out for coffee or something. Pathetic? Quite possibly. But it seemed to work.

Angela blushed and pushed a loose strand of dark auburn hair behind her ear.

"I'm Sam by the way."

She smiled bashfully. "Nice to meet you Sam."

"Well, since it seems that the catch of the century is unavailable at the moment, I suppose I'll have to try and survive on a cheeseburger, fries, and water."

Now that was slick. . .

"Good choice." Angela played along.

Oh good Lord. Dean couldn't take it anymore.

"Ahem."

The elder felt two pairs of eyes staring at him. "Didn't mean to interrupt but my stomach is trying to eat me alive here."

Angela laughed lightheartedly and turned towards the sandy haired Winchester. "Well, let's see what I can do about that."

After Dean had placed his order, Angela skipped off behind the counter and into the kitchen, leaving the two brothers to wait in peace.

Sam's gaze lingered on the door she had disappeared into a little longer before leaning across the table to face Dean. "Damn." The younger wiggled his eyebrows playfully. "She's hot!"

Normally, Dean would be pleased that his brother had executed a pick up line without flaw, but somehow it didn't seem right. It was so. . . un-Sammy-like. "Yeah, she is really pretty."

"Pretty? Come on man. I saw the way you were looking at her. You should have said something. Who knows, maybe she has a thing for creepy looking older guys."

Dean snorted in disgust. "Who are you calling old? Besides, it's obvious she's more into the geeky bookworm type."

"Better than being a midget."

"Now that was just mean."

"You were mean first."

"No I wasn't."

"Yeah, I guess not."

"You're such an ass, Samantha."

"And you're such a jerk, Dee-Ann."

Dean raised a condescending eyebrow. "Forget it kid. Your insults suck."

"I don't know, I thought it was fitting."

"That's 'cause you suck."

"Yeah, and _that_ really convinced me to wave the white flag." Sam snorted in mock fear. "I'm quaking in my sneakers."

"Your sneakers suck too."

"For Pete's sake."

"Pete sucks t-"

"Would you just shut up already?"

Dean grinned madly. "Are you giving up?"

Sam opened his mouth to answer but was stopped by the full plate of food placed in front of him.

"Here you two go. I pulled some major strings to get your orders out before everyone else, so I expect a big tip." Angela gave a wide smile and winked.

"You didn't have to do that for us." Dean protested though on the inside he was extremely grateful.

"Nonsense!" Angela exclaimed then gave Dean an amused grin. "We couldn't have had your stomach eat you alive now could we? We'd lose all our customers! Believe me, they'll thank me in the future." She set a tall glass of water in front of Sam and a ceramic mug of black coffee before Dean. "If either of you need anything, don't hesitate to holler."

Dean snatched up the opportunity. "You might need to invest in earplugs. Sammy here can be quite the bitchy whiner."

"Am not!"

Dean smirked. "See?"

Angela just laughed and walked away to let them eat their meal.

Sam watched her move away with appreciation before biting hungrily into his cheeseburger.

"Cheeseburgers suck too."

"Dean!"

* * *

Unknown Time

". . . a change in foster homes. Effective immediately." The gavel fell with emotionless finality, echoing ominously, giving the illusion that the room was sucked into a sound vacuum vortex and the falling hammer was the only thing there.

The soft sobbing of woman standing next to her husband followed.

"Dean Winchester, you will be escorted to your new home by Mr. And Mrs. Stevens. Court dismissed."

The gray haired judge stood from his chair and motioned to the aforesaid family to collect the troublesome teenager. With a sigh he watched as the previous couple who had custody over Dean cried together, trying to console each other with hollow words of comfort. They had tried so hard, for years they had sheltered him, fed him, loved him; they had treated them like the son they would never be able to have, and now he had to rip it away from them with the fall of a hammer.

He tore his gaze away and let his eyes settle on Dean. The sixteen year old boy was trouble incarnate. You could tell just by watching his demeanor and the way his eyes swept strategically across the room that he was plotting or planning something. Though it was hard to actually see his eyes behind the mop of darkly colored brown hair. It used to be blond, he was told, but it seemed the kid had taken to liking the darker things and dyed it. That was just a little before he had started down the path that led him here.

After he had turned thirteen, Dean had repeatedly disappeared at night, only to come back with multiple cuts and bruises that he refused to explain. Beth and Brian had tried to understand it, thinking that it was just some attempt for attention, but when they found the salt lines on the teen's window and the knives, they panicked. Their fears were only boosted when they found a gun hidden in the closet along with a box full of what seemed like occult type items.

When they confronted the boy about it he clammed up and - like with his unexplained injuries - refused to talk about it.

It hadn't been until the boy had been caught burning the already buried bones of a deceased townsman that the law felt the need to get involved. And even then, they couldn't do anything until another couple stepped forward to accept the responsibility of the troubled teen. Thank the stars that the Stevens volunteered, because as strange as the boy seemed, the old judge just couldn't bear the thought of sending him off to Juvie.

Dean was slouched down in one of the court seats, arms crossed defiantly, daring anyone to try and make him move. His skin seemed to come across as a pale color in contrast to the black t-shirt and cargo pants he wore. The judge wouldn't describe him as 'goth'. No, this was something completely different. He was the real thing, others only being cheap copies. This boy knew something that others didn't.

It scared the hell out of him.

Dean's eyes instantly locked on his own and a sense of dread tingled down his spine.

* * *

1:19pm

"Sir? Sir! Doctor! We need a doctor in here!"

He could hear the voices around him, calling to him, but answering was impossible. All he could do was hold onto his head for dear life, lest it explode from the pressure that had built up behind his eyes; the flashes of white finally fading away to reveal a group of people (female nurses say one doctor Phillip) standing around him in a dizzying circle. In his confused mind the first thing he thought was: 'Why the hell are they so tall?' A minute later he realized he had actually catapulted himself off the bed in the throes of. . . whatever the hell just happened, and was laying flat on his back on the hospital's linoleum floor.

"What the hell?" He whispered under his breath, confusion overriding any other feeling trying to surface.

"Sir? Please, you need to lay down." Phillip and a few nurses helped the fallen man off the floor and led him toward the bed.

"No, wait." He struggled in their grasp. "I, uh, I need to go to the bathroom."

Phillip nodded to one of the nurses - whose name was Chrissy - and she led him over to the other side of the room. "Will you be okay in there by yourself?" She asked quietly.

He merely nodded and shut the door behind him. This was it. The moment of truth.

The mirror was hanging above the sink in front of him, but he couldn't raise his eyes. All those earlier fears flooded his mind and he was almost swept up in the panic. "No." He spoke softly to himself. "You can do this. It's just your face." If only it were that simple.

He stared down at the white square tiles on the floor nervously, counting the seconds in his head. With resolve he started to look up, but closed his eyes while doing so. He didn't mean to tease his mind, but he still wasn't sure if he was ready for this. Once he was staring at where the mirror should be, he squinted through his eyes. All he saw was a blurry reflection that gave him no hints or details to what he looked like. He closed his eyes tightly once more and took a long large breath. Eyes were now open.

There he was.

He let out the air he hadn't realized he had been holding. The reflection that stared back at him was a tall brunet with his hair spilling over his forehead, just missing from falling in his eyes. "Brown hair." He murmured quietly and ran a hand lightly over his face like a blind person would do to feel your features. True to the mirror image, he had a more pointed nose and slightly slanted eyes. They weren't brown or green. "Hazel." A strong jaw and dimples when he smiled. He placed his age to be somewhere in the early twenties. All in all, except for the white bandage covering his throat, he felt he was a very handsome man.

He also looked identical to the man he saw in between all those white flashes in his head. Was he recovering his memory? Somehow he always thought that there be some sort of recognition, familiarity or a feeling of 'Oh yeah! I remember that now.' But there was nothing. Maybe the intimate connection to his past would come later. . .

But what had the old guy called him? Daniel? Denny? Don? Dean! That was it. "Dean." He rolled the name around in his mouth as if trying it on to see if it fit. "Is that who I am? Dean Winchester?" He asked himself in the mirror as if it would hold all the answers. Nothing.

He straightened himself to his full height and stared at his reflection with all the authority he could muster as he looked himself in the eye. "I am Dean Winchester." He cocked his head to the side as a sudden and fleeting thought occurred to him. "Like the rifle."

* * *

Ending Author notes: Haha, I promised myself I wasn't going to do it but I'm a sucker for MemoryLoss!Winchester. I had a bit of fun writing this chapter so I hope it was to your liking and not too confusing.

Extra note: Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of all this, and at some point Dean will find out what really happened to his Sam.

Extra, extra note: The muzzle arrived. Who knew that plot bunnies were telepathic?

Your amnesiac loving writer friend - Kerri


	10. Chapter 9

**Note: **Okay, so you all wait a long time for a new chapter, and what do you get? A short one! But never fear, this chapter is choc full of special goodies. ;-) Please enjoy and remember that reviews are what makes the world go round. Or so I've been told. . . Also for those in the US of A: I hope you had a rockin' Fourth of July! - K. B.

**Chapter Nine: Happy rocks and Smiley faces**

Day 4: Wednesday 8:00am

The warm rays of the rising sun streamed lazily down through the morning haze, caressing the morning dew with its warmth and waking a speckled gray rock with its touch. This particular rock was special in one regard: there was absolutely nothing special about it. As was said before, it was gray and very average sized. But as with all rocks, it never really cared if it was ordinary or not. It simply enjoyed the very essence of being alive; of living in the here and now.

Rocks tend to enjoy things for the moment, basking in the pleasure it felt to wake up every morning to the warm sunrise announcing a new day, followed by the twinkling dew drops singing their songs of joy and the grass blades whistling in harmony with the lightly breezy wind blowing overhead. It was a symphony of nature that they were delighted to listen to every day.

Oh how the rocks of the meadow would feel pity for the stray pebbles and stones that were stranded helplessly in a garbage ridden city with only the honking of car horns and yelling of depressingly unhappy people as the sounds to absorb. Rocks don't have ears so they can't actually hear anything; they merely soak everything in like a sponge.

This specific rock was very excited about the coming day. Downright elated. It had a feeling that only good could come of it and that perhaps he would even feel a rainbow. Rocks also don't have eyes so naturally they can only feel the presence of things, thus hoping to feel the loving beauty only a rainbow can bring. In its entire lifetime, it had only felt a rainbow about six times.

This rock was a very happy rock. A very happy rock indeed. This rock tended to look at the good in everything and everybody. . . which is why of course it was quite shocked and slightly hurt when somebody picked it up and with a strong arm hurled it into one of the library's glass windows, shattering not only the lovely stained glass artwork but a previously optimistic rock's hopes and dreams for a better future. And so ended the life a very unmemorable rock. . .

-SUPERNATURAL-

8:01am

He hated libraries.

So when he picked up the first rock he could find and hurled it into the most ugly stained glass window he had ever seen, there was definitely a feeling of self satisfaction for a job well done.

He also hated the police. They were the idiots who never knew what to really look for. How many cases had never been solved because they refused to look past their own freakin' noses to find the truth? Too many. That's why he was here. Except this was a little more. . . personal.

Stepping quietly into the bathroom, the shadowed figure ignored the squeaking of the door and immediately began to search for what was never found. It had to be here. Things like that didn't just disappear. He moved his feet in a complicated dance to avoid leaving footprints in the still bloodstained floor below as his eyes swept the large perimeter.

Not in the stalls. . .

Not under the sinks. . .

Not beneath the- There it was.

Nestled just beneath the first right corner of a rug in front of the bathroom door lay a small brown leather wallet. Carefully, he reached down and picked it up with his thumb and index finger, basking in the momentary glee he felt at the discovery. He opened it slowly to be sure it was the item he was looking for and smiled. He was right.

"Seems I have a date at the hospital." He murmured while slipping back out the window, laughing as he looked down at his watch. "That's what happens when you open up late."

-SUPERNATURAL-

Earlier that Wednesday morning at roughly 3:06am

He lay down on the bed; a peacefulness and a feeling of content settling over him. If only he had realized it was only the calm before the storm.

Drop.

He twitched slightly as the sticky liquid fell onto his forehead but he refused to open his eyes.

Drop, drop.

Finally his eyes opened, only to widen them farther at the sight that greeted him. Pinned helplessly to the ceiling above was a beautiful blond; a bloody cut slashed across her abdomen. It was his girlfriend.

The flames burst out from her body like wings spreading to catch the wind. Her eyes were wide with panic and her mouth opened and closed to whisper two words in a silent cry: "Why Sam?"

"NO!"

"Sam! Sam wake up!"

Samuel's eyes jerked open as the nightmare faded back to the dark abyss it had come from. Sweat beaded above his eyebrows and his hair clung desperately to his forehead. Dean sat right next to him and had his hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

"Was it Jess?" The elder asked with soft concern. Despite the earlier behavior shown in favor of the waitress, Dean knew that Jessica Moore was still a very sensitive subject.

Samuel's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Yeah. How did you know. . ."

"You called for her."

"Oh, um right." The brunet's erratic breathing evened out and his heart stopped beating at its rapid pace, allowing him to calm his frayed nerves. He raised his right hand to run his fingers through his damp hair and sighed.

Dean frowned and took hold of the younger's arm. "When did you get this?"

Samuel looked down and saw that his shirt sleeve had rolled up to his elbow, revealing the dark blue detailed fire tattoo encircling his right wrist. Quickly he jerked his arm away and pushed his sleeve back down to cover it. "It was a mistake."

"It's a tattoo Sam. You don't just get those on a whim." Dean growled in frustration. "Now quit shitting with me. Why did you get it?"

Samuel bit the inside of his bottom lip and hesitated before answering. "There was this girl."

Dean sat there waiting for more but nothing came. "Jessica?"

"No." Samuel said bitterly. "It wasn't Jess."

"Then who was it?" 'Stop being so damn cryptic!'

"None of you damn business!"

Dean cringed at the annoyed tone, knowing the Sam was trying to end the questions, but was too angry himself to give a shit. "I say it is! Stop acting like you've got some horrible past you need to keep secret and start getting over it!"

"You don't know anything about me!" Samuel practically seethed with fury.

"You're damn right I don't! How can I when you don't tell me any freakin' thing?!"

"You're such a bastard!"

"Oh, so that's an excuse now?" Dean taunted angrily.

"Shut the hell up!" Neither Dean nor Samuel saw the soft glow emanating from his tattoo.

Dean wasn't going to let his little brother try to intimidate him. "Not till you start talking. Besides, it's not my fault you can't seem to hang on to your women." Oh shit, he must still be suffering the effects of all the alcohol he had that night.

(Their idea of 'hanging' turned out to be playing pool, poker, and drinking late into the night at the local bar. Had Dean been thinking more clearly, he might have noticed how strange it was that Sam was beating him and everyone at everything. . .)

"I said shut the fuck up!" Dean didn't even have enough time to flinch as Samuel threw himself off the bed and tackled him to the ground, his hands moving together to tighten around the blond's throat. He ignored the cut off cries that the elder was making under his grasp as he watched Dean struggle underneath him. "Stop acting like you know me." He hissed into the 'brother's' ear.

"S. . . Sam. . . my!" Dean's voice scraped out in a panicked rasp.

"Don't call me that!" Samuel thundered angrily, unconsciously squeezing his hands tighter; crushing down on the hunter's windpipe, eliciting a hurt gasp from Dean.

The air was quickly escaping from the elder's lungs and black spots were dancing before his eyes. He wasn't sure when everything went wrong, but he did know that wherever that invisible line was, he had taken one too many steps across it. The last thing he saw before falling into the welcome blackness was Sam's raging eyes glaring down at him in undisguised hatred; it scared the living shit out of him.

Samuel watched as Dean fell limp underneath him but was powerless to stop himself from holding onto the now bruised throat for an extra few seconds. With a sharp exhale, he released Dean and stood towering above him. It wasn't supposed to be like this. . . Who was he kidding? Of course it was supposed to be like this. It was why he had come. But now? Dean had found his injuries and treated them, pestered him with questions because he cared. . . He had driven with him, eaten with him, talked to him, drank with him, beat him at poker and pool. . . He was his brother.

Envious visions crept through his thoughts. Jealous that this was not the world he had been born into. If he had. . .

His lips twisted into a smile. Why not? It's not like the other 'Sam' was here. Samuel began to make plans in his head. Sure. He could stay. He could do this. Live the life he had always wanted but never had. Let 'Sammy' pick up the broken pieces he left behind. Why not? Dean wouldn't know the difference.

Samuel looked down, remembering that he had just deprived the elder of air until he fell unconscious.

Yeah, he might need to think up some kind of an apology for that one.

-SUPERNATURAL-

7:30am

Samuel had been awake for hours; unable to sleep after the fight he had with Dean earlier; plus, he had a plan he had to carry out. If he expected this to work, there were going to have to be a lot of changes. A little after he had decided what course of action to take, the dark brunet made a run to Wal-Mart to grab (shoplift of course) all the needed items.

At about 5:00 he had returned to find that Dean was still thankfully sprawled out unconscious on the floor, allowing him to put his design into effect. Dumping the contents from the average sized plastic bag with a giant, generally annoying smile printed on the front, Samuel breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't forgotten anything. It was all there: coverage makeup, men's hair color, and the two most important things ever invented. He prayed that this was one of those things that this and the 'other' Dean had in common.

Now it was 7:31 and everything was in place. All that remained was for Dean to wake up.

-SUPERNATURAL-

9:11am

The first thing Dean felt as he surfaced back to consciousness was pain.

The first thing he thought was: 'Why am I in pain?'

The first thing he saw was Sam sitting hunched over on the bed across from him.

The first thing he said was: "What the HELL did you do that for?!"

Samuel jumped from where he was sitting and rushed over to the now awake Dean and took hold of his shoulder while smiling excitedly. "Thank God you're awake! I was getting worried."

Dean laughed mirthlessly. "Oh yeah? Was that before or after you thought my neck was your stress ball?"

Samuel shook his head. "Honestly man, you think I would really do that to you?"

"Well you did shoot me once."

'Well, that's something I should remember for later.' Samuel thought with some interest. 'What would the 'other' Sam say?' Uh. "Come on, we've been over this already. I'm sorry about that. It wasn't. . . me." Huh, apparently the truth really can set you free.

"Alright. Then who was that trying to strangle me just then?"

"I know this is going to sound strange in a long line of strange, but you need to promise that you'll hear me out."

"Oh come on. What are you going to tell me that I haven't already heard of or gone up against? Skinwalker? Been there. Shapeshifter? Done that. Possessed? I think I would have noticed _before_ you jumped me. Plus, I already 'Christoed' you." Dean shuddered at that last one. Separate entities were one thing, but possession was on a whole different level.

'Hm, they've gone up against more than I thought.' The brunet thought with slight surprise. "No. It's a little different than any of that."

"You going to tell me today princess, or should I find a pillow so you can try to do me in again without leaving incriminating marks?" Pissed would have been a pretty pitiful description of how Dean felt right then. How about betrayal? Or hurt? Pain? Confusion? Any of those emotions ringing a bell?

"Stop it Dean! You know I wouldn't do that!"

"You could have fooled me!"

"That wasn't me!"

"Then who the hell was it Sam?! 'Cause it sure as hell wasn't your non-existent evil twin!"

Samuel fell silent and began to bite the inside of his lip.

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"Not exactly." Samuel took in a deep breath and counted to ten. This was it. Dean needed to know. He just hoped that the elder would understand. "Dean. What do you know about doppelgängers?"

-SUPERNATURAL-

Ending Author Notes: Okay, short chapter. I just hope you got a satisfactory fix. (Sorry if it seemed weird or out of place. It was really late when I wrote it)

Extra note: I swear, I have never thought about rocks that much until now. Douglas Adams is my inspiration.

Extra, extra note: So what is Samuel's plan? Who exactly is the man with the eyepatch? What is his beef with Samuel Winchester? What happens to Sam now that he thinks he's Dean? Will Dean ever find out that Samuel isn't Sammy? Not even I know. (Okay, I do. I just want to sound more dramatic) Lol. Next chapter should be longer and hopefully more revealing. Thanks for sticking with me on this.

Your freakishly random writer friend - Kerri


	11. Chapter 10

**Note:** Quick thanks to my unofficial beta, my sister! Without her help and sharp eye, this whole chapter would be disaster with all the mistakes I had! And thank you so much for the reviews. They mean so much, and replying to them is a blast. I want to give a special thanks to Poaetpainter for reviewing every single chapter I've posted so far, and for not being afraid to say she was confused. I hope I cleared it up, but if not, just keep bugging me. :-) - Kerri

**Chapter Ten: Psychic Hotline**

Still Wednesday at 11:46am

Right foot, left foot, right foot, left, right, turn.

Left foot, right foot, left foot, right, left. . . turn.

If Samuel didn't know better, he would have sworn that he saw a small indent in the floor where Dean had been fervently pacing for the last five minutes. "Dean? I know it sounds kinda crazy but-"

Dean stopped and gave a knowing smirk. "No that's just it dude. It doesn't sound crazy. As a matter of fact it finally all makes sense. The claw marks and injuries, the darker hair and - no offense - but he had a little more understanding about hair than you do. It was almost creepy. Oh and when I thought it was you flirting with that waitress, Angela, even when you were still upset over. . . uh, you know."

"Yeah." Samuel nodded. "I know."

"But what I don't get is why he had a dream about Jessica. I mean, what are the chances you would hook up with the same girl in a different reality?" Dean munched down on a handful of the peanut m&ms that Samuel had picked up earlier. He ignored the beer, but only because he was in the middle of recovering from a hangover.

Samuel was suddenly confused. The Sam here had a girlfriend named Jessica? Maybe it was a different girl. . . "I guess the odds are pretty slim." Samuel gave a sympathetic glance at Dean's neck. "I'm just sorry I didn't get here before. . ."

Dean waved him off. "Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it?" Samuel was shocked. "I tried to kill you! It wasn't just a copy Dean, it was me. Just from a different time."

"I know that."

Samuel pushed farther. "I could've killed you!"

"Godammit Sam! It wasn't you!" Dean growled.

Samuel was taken back by the intensity. Apparently Dean had a whole lot of confidence in his brother.

Dean then regained his composer and sunk down on the bed next to Samuel. "Besides, my brother would never run off and get a tattoo over some girl." They both looked down at Samuel's wrist which was still covered by his shirt sleeve. Without a word, Samuel rolled up his sleeve to reveal a bruise and tattoo free wrist and arm.

Dean smiled and then glanced at his brother's hair. Just the shade it was before all the madness began. Good to know. Maybe now they could try and fall back into routine. "So, you ready?"

"Ready for what?" Samuel was once again tugging his sleeve back down.

"What do you think Geek boy? Research."

Obviously Samuel had a lot to learn about the other Sam. He had never been called a geek in his entire life. He also never researched stuff. He was going to have to pull a miracle from thin air if he thought he was going to pull this off. Or maybe he would just settle for good old fashioned dark magic or something.

Dean handed him the laptop and headed off into the bathroom. Opening the lid, Samuel suddenly was hit with a bucket load of panic as he realized that it was password protected. 'Oh shit. How the hell am I supposed to figure this out? It could be any frickin' thing.' But before he could begin the old trial and error method, a ring tone that sounded an awful lot like 'Back in Black' sounded from Dean's cell.

Dean exited the bathroom and rushed over to pick up the phone while berating his brother. "Why are you just sitting on your ass and letting it ring through? It could be Bobby or Ash." He glanced at the caller ID and frowned. "I don't recognize it." Shrugging, the elder flipped it open and spoke into the mouthpiece with a controlled voice. "Hello?"

There was a slight pause from the other side of the phone and then a soft: "Is this Dean Winchester?"

"Yeah. Who is this?"

"Oh thank goodness." There was a sigh of relief and then the female voice spoke again. "I think I can help you with murder of Danielle Christensen."

Dean frowned, but decided to play the safe card. "I'm not with the police. Have you talked to them about it?"

There was an amused laugh at the other end. "I don't think the police are ready for what I have to offer."

"And just what exactly do you have to offer?"

"Now that would be telling, wouldn't it?"

"Look, I'm not really in the mood for mind games."

"Interesting that you would bring that up."

"Why's that?" Dean asked in a clipped tone, not really enjoying the cryptic conversation he was having with a woman he didn't even know.

"I'm psychic."

Dean hadn't been ready for that. Other than Missouri, he hadn't met anyone else that was legit in that profession. "Psychic huh?" He chuckled and then rolled his eyes. "If you're so psychic, then tell what I'm thinking."

"Dude, I don't have to be psychic to know that you're thinking that I'm a nutcase." Dean could practically hear the scowl on her face.

"Then what am I feeling?"

"For somebody that deals with the supernatural every day of their life, you sure have a warped view on people with extra abilities." She snorted. "I'm on the phone. How the hell do you expect me to read your emotions? Besides, only a phony would try and attempt to read your feelings when you don't have any real connection. Nice test by the way."

"I thought it was efficient."

"So you believe me now?"

"Not really."

"You are a stubborn ass, you know that?"

Dean grinned despite the insult. "It's been said."

"I've no doubt." Dean heard her murmur quietly before saying: "Look, I was a good friend of Danielle and I want to help. I think I have an idea on how to ID the prints left behind from the burn marks, but I want to confirm all my findings with you."

"How did you even get this number?" Dean asked, suddenly suspicious. "More of that psychic mojo you got going on?"

"Smartass." The woman mumbled. "Actually, I found a bookmark in her journal that directed me to a 'John Winchester' if anything should happen to her, but I only got the voicemail telling me to call you. That sound reasonable enough to you?"

Dean had to admit the story was sound. "Alright. How do you want to do this?"

He could hear her relax over the phone. "Why don't you come over to my place. My little brother's here but we'll be able to talk." She gave him an address and Dean diligently wrote it down as well as memorized it. "Come as soon as you can. I have a feeling that the killer is still around. Oh, and that _is_ a product of my 'psychic mojo' by the way." Without another word, she hung up, leaving Dean to listen to the shrill flatline of a dead connection.

He flipped the cell closed and looked down at the numbers written down on a small piece of paper.

"Who was that?" Samuel asked from the bed, still stalling from having to guess the password.

It then dawned on the elder that she hadn't given a name. "Pack the laptop Sammy." He said instead.

"What? Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"You don't give enough answers." Samuel countered smartly while quickly zipping up the case to his computer closed.

"We're going to grab something to eat and then. . ." He closed his eyes for a brief moment as if relishing the idea of what was to come. "Then we're going to catch a murderer."

-SUPERNATURAL-

12:21pm

Sean Tucker was bored. Turns out that being a certified nurse at the local health clinic didn't bring all the excitement he was hoping for. He had been working there for about three months now and the most exciting patient had been in a coma. A short one at that. At least that guy had a sense for dramatic flare. Waking up without any memory of his past, or even what his name was. . . Definitely was the constant gossip among all the other nurses.

Granted, he was the only male nurse employed here, and he swung toward liking females, so that left him out of the main flow of discussion about the man. Apparently, there had been an ongoing bet about who was going to be lucky enough to take care of the patient. For some reason, the newest nurse, Chrissy, had won. Not only had she been in charge of (according to the women) 'The hottest man alive' but she also made a killing in those nice little green pieces of paper that are used to buy things like food, clothes and useless accessories.

So while Chrissy was enjoying the fruits of her gamble, he was stuck behind the counter tapping his pen and finding himself wishing for some sort of disaster to take place. Fire, flood, tornado, blizzard, end of the world apocalypse. . . Anything to liven this place up a bit.

A small 'beep' sounded from the sliding doors to the entrance of the hospital, announcing that finally, someone had something worth coming here for. Sean looked up from his pen tapping and saw a rough around the edges kind of guy with a black eyepatch walking toward him with a deep scowl marring his face.

"Can I help you."

The man nodded. "Yeah, I'm looking for someone. Has anybody like this been checked in?" He pulled out a wallet from his pocket and showed him a picture of the recent coma/ amnesia patient.

"I can't really give out that information. How do you know him?"

"I'm his brother."

Sean did have to admit that they did have a slight resemblance to them. He couldn't really tell from the eyes because of the patch though. "Well then I'm sorry you went through all the trouble of coming here." He said apologetically.

"What do you mean?" The man's voice was low and sounded rather dangerous. "He's here right?"

"I'm afraid not." Sean apologized again. "He left this morning."

"He _left_?"

The male nurse bit his lip at the anger in the man's voice. "If you would just give me your name then I'm sure we can find a way to contact-"

It was too late. The dark brunet with the eyepatch was already gone. All he heard was the angry grumbling of: "Freakin' male nurse is a friggin' idiot. . . In a freakin' girls job. Pansy."

That afternoon Sean quit his job and went on to work at the local gas station mini mart where, ironically there was a hold up later in the week and somebody got shot, giving him the chance to perform CPR and attempt to save the victims life. The victim died of blood loss. Excitement to the fullest.

-SUPERNATURAL-

1:15pm

Samuel and Dean exited from the diner in a hurried fashion, jumping into the Impala as they heard the rumble of thunder in the distance, warning onlookers of the impending rain storm coming their way, despite the bright sunrise and blue skies still over their heads.

With a full stomach and a head brimming with excitement about hunting for Danielle's killer, Dean started his baby with a quick twist of his keys and enjoyed the roaring purr that announced his baby was alive and ready to go kick some bad guy ass; despite still trying to recover from her recent injury. The elder reminded himself to find a temporary cover so that the rain wouldn't leak through and soak the seats.

"So Dean, you going to tell me exactly what we're doing? You weren't really giving details. . . or anything. I can't help if you don't keep me on the up and up." Samuel leaned back contentedly in the leather patented passenger seat and looked at him expectantly.

"Sorry. I guess I'm still a weirded out by the whole evil Sam thing." Dean grinned. "And speaking of details, how _did_ you get rid of him?"

Samuel grimaced on the inside, unwilling to let his nervousness show through. "Well, um, I d- didn't really get rid of him per say."

Dean's smile vanished as quickly as it had come, while changing lanes on the highway. "What do you mean? He's still out there?"

"Probably." Samuel was hoping that this wouldn't be brought up again, but it was too late now. It was time to try and forge his brotherly connection. "I know I should have, but I was a little worried that he might have. . ." He purposely trailed off and bit his lip as if struggling.

"What?" Dean asked, though a little more gently then before. "That he killed me?"

Samuel turned his face away and stared out the window at the fields they were passing instead.

SUPERNATURAL

Dean mentally kicked himself. The last thing he needed was to make Sam feel guilty because he was more concerned about his health then catching the perpetrator. It was just the way his brother handled things. It was actually kind of a comfort to Dean. He knew he could count on that Sam would always put him first in front of the hunt. That he cared.

Dean would never say it loud but he loved Sam because of it. It was more than John ever did. . . maybe that was why he never said anything. Even when the younger had been away at college, Dean was comforted in the fact that if he came to Sam for help, that he would.

That was proven when he had dropped in after Dad had disappeared. Sure, Sammy had been hesitant, and it was obvious he wasn't excited at the prospect of hunting again, but he did it anyway. Not for Dad, but for him.

Dean realized he hadn't said anything yet and cleared his throat. "Thanks."

Samuel was actually a little surprised and peeled his eyes away from the boring scenery to rest on Dean; his entire being still focused on the road in front of him. "You're not mad?"

"Of course not." His grin was back. "I'm sure he'll think twice before messing with a Winchester again."

"You do realize that technically he is a Winchester too."

Dean took his eyes off the road for a moment to look Samuel straight in the eye. "There's more to being a Winchester than having the name. The name means shit if you don't live up to it. There are responsibilities, things that we and only we can do. It's our job to protect the ignorant and kill the baddies that come around. Whatever that sucky copy thought he was, he wasn't a Winchester. Not even close."

Dean then turned his eyes back to staring out the windshield and his cheeks took on a light red color. He obviously hadn't meant to say all that.

Samuel also turned his eyes to stare ahead and said quietly. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"Yeah, well. . ." Dean popped in a cassette tape and cranked up the Metallica so as to drown out everything except the lyrics belting out at them. "Me neither Sammy. Me neither."

-SUPERNATURAL-

1:30pm

The bar was filled with smoke.

It was only 1:30 in the afternoon and still, people were crowded around the pool table to watch the outcome of a match that had them at the edge of their seats. Jeremy Fisher had been the champion of all things pool for five years straight. . . Until the new guy anyway.

The barman - who's name was Ben - had been keeping an eye on the newcomer as soon as he walked into the establishment and sat down. He was tall, kinda gangly and had small white bandage covering his throat. For about thirty minutes the guy had watched the pool table, and studied Jeremy as he won game after game against any poor suckers that were fool enough to challenge him, and yet that was all he did. Watched.

Just as Ben had been about to go tell the kid that he couldn't just sit there without ordering anything, he stood up and walked cautiously over to the pool table.

"Hey! Look at this." Jeremy sneered while obviously amused when he saw the guy pick up a cue stick. "The kid thinks he's got a chance."

'The kid' didn't even offer a smart ass response. He just simply nodded to the table and shrugged. "Wanna play?"

"This is gonna be interesting." Jeremy continued to tease. "As a matter of fact. Why don't we make this a little more interesting." He reached in his pocket a produced two twenties; slamming them down on the table next to him. People glanced over from their tables to see what was going on.

Ben watched with a certain fascination as the kids shoulders slumped and he frowned as he dug in his pockets, finding that he didn't have anything to call the bet. But before he could tell the small crowd that he would have to back down, the bartender walked over and handed him two tens and a twenty. "The first round is on me." He said with a small smile.

The kid smiled and thanked him quietly while placing the money next to the cash that Jeremy had put down. There was a small buzz moving through the bar regulars and Jeremy gave a loud guffaw. "You've really got some guts kid. I'll play easy on you for now." He pointed to the balls already set in formation. "You can break."

Ben inwardly groaned as he saw what Jeremy was doing. Making it look like he was actually going to give the kid a chance; letting him go first. . . He knew he should put a stop to it but he was too curious. He wanted to know what the kid had in him. Maybe, he could take Jeremy down a peg. Heaven knows it was about time.

The newcomer took up his position and carefully took aim. With a fluid motion he pushed the stick forward to hit the white ball and it rolled onward, advancing toward the colored balls with great momentum. It was a good shot. . . just not good enough. Not a single ball went into a pocket.

Jeremy crowed happily. "Sorry kid. Shitty luck."

The young opponent just shrugged and watched intently as Jeremy took up his own position and without a second glance, pushed the stick and sent the white ball bounding over to a striped number five, allowing the sharp crack of contact as they hit to hang in the air before cheering as the five fell right into a corner pocket.

There were apologetic murmurs directed to the newbie when the champion hit a second ball that went sailing into the side pocket. Again, the young man did nothing.

Who knows how it happened, but as luck would have it, Jeremy missed his next shot. "Huh, looks like your luck isn't so rotten after all." The man said. "You get to shoot again."

The kid smiled and Ben could see an amused gleam flickering in the brunet's eyes. He definitely knew something that the rest of them didn't.

Placing himself at the very end of the table, the tall and gangly looking kid bent down to take careful aim and shot straight for the single colored number two ball. All it took was a blink and you would have missed the shot as the game piece went compliantly into the left hand pocket.

A small round of cheers were sounded then efficiently quieted when Jeremy and a few of his friends shot them a death glare.

The kid walked around to the other side and shot again. This time his hand slipped and the white ball bounced wildly from two of the table sides, only to land in the middle, hitting nothing on its journey. He gave a disappointed frown but Ben instantly noticed the almost non existent smirk playing lightly at the corner of his lips. That's when the bartender saw what the kid had just done.

It had taken years for the man to notice that Jeremy was only good at far ranged shots, which was good for him because most people would try and get the white ball as far away from the targets as they could, thinking that it would make it harder for the seasoned player, but this kid called his bluff immediately.

Though the placement of the ball was right in the center, every other piece was reasonably close and at very awkward places for him to try and shoot. 'Hot damn!' Ben thought with amusement. 'The kid's hustling a hustler!'

Apparently nobody else had noticed since Jeremy and company still had the shit eating grins on their faces. "What was that?" One of them taunted. "You nervous? Palms getting all sweaty from the pressure?"

"Guess I'm a little out of practice." The kid admitted.

"Well, that bit of rust is going to cost you the game." Jeremy gloated before taking a look at the table.

The rest of the game had been played in the same fashion. Jeremy would make a good shot then miss while the kid would make it look like all his hits were pure luck while inconspicuously putting his last shot in a difficult spot for Jeremy; making it always look like an accident. So when the newcomer had finally won, it didn't surprise Ben when he heard another challenge issued.

"What's your name kid?"

The kid looked up through his hazel eyes and dark brown hair and said. "Winchester. Dean Winchester."

'Like the rifle.' Ben thought distractedly.

A woman - Abby - looked up from the drink she was nursing at the bar and looked over to her newly met date for the day. "Dean Winchester? Didn't I see a Winchester on that 'Most Wanted' program?"

Her male companion - his name was Chris, but not even Abby knew that - nodded and looked over at the man. "You're right." He took an extra glance. "But that kid doesn't look a thing like him. Probably just got shitty luck in the whole name game. My bet is he'll be held up by the cops on more than one occasion for it."

"Dean huh?" Jeremy smiled, not noticing the similarity it had with the wanted criminal from St. Louis, then pulled another wad of cash from his pocket. "You got lucky that time Dean. How about you show what you're really made of and play all or nothing?" The man was baiting him and Ben couldn't help but laugh quietly from behind the counter. If Jeremy hadn't always been such an ass, he might have felt sorry that he was falling into the stranger's trap, but at this point. . . God he was going to enjoy this.

The game started, and while everyone's attention was drawn to the table, nobody noticed as a dark figure walked into the bar. He sat down and watched attentively all the while rubbing the black patch that covered his right eye.

-SUPERNATURAL-

1:47pm

The Impala came to a smooth stop in front of a small two story house on the end of a sparse looking block.

"This it?" Samuel asked while cocking his head to the side.

Dean looked down at the address he had written and the numbers printed over the door. "Yeah. Why?"

"I don't know. I would've thought that a psychic's home would be more. . ."

"Ominous? Creepy? Forbidding? Menacing?" Dean teased.

"Well, I guess." Samuel then smiled and laughed. "But I suppose the whole white picket fence is scary enough."

Dean grinned and stepped out of the car. "You got that right. No way were we cut out for an apple pie kind of home like this."

Both 'brothers' trudged up the walkway and Dean knocked on the door with a loud bang. He heard the small scuffle of feet and the click of a lock being undone, though he hadn't expected the face that was behind it.

"Dean, Sam! What are you guys doing here?"

Dean glanced down at his paper one more time to compare addresses. Yep. It really was the house. "Hey Colin." Dean smiled and shuffled on his feet. "Uh, I got a call that said I should come here. . ."

"A call?" Colin furrowed his eyebrows.

"Yeah, a girl said she had something she wanted to talk to me about."

"Oh! You must be who my sister called about the murder. She said she was getting specialists, but I didn't know it was you guys." Colin opened the door and let them in. "Wow, I would have never guessed what you do as your job."

Both Dean and Samuel glanced warily at each other.

"You both are going to have to tell me some stories. I bet you've had boat load of close call adventures." Colin was grinning ear to ear. "But I guess you need to talk to my sis first." He began to lead them through a small hallway before yelling out. "Yo! T, you're friends are here!"

"Coming!"

Samuel stopped dead in his tracks. He knew that voice.

"Sam? You okay?"

Dean placed his hand on his shoulder. Samuel looked around the hallway and spotted a couple pictures setting lightly on the wall, but he only focused on one.

Dean was only worried once he saw Sam's face go a deathly pale shade of white. It was haunted. "Sammy?"

Samuel ignored him and walked closer to the picture as if entranced. "Colin?"

Colin turned around and stood next to him. "Uh-huh?"

"I- Is that your sister?" He pointed to the single picture that featured a girl with choppily cut, short black hair and devastatingly blue eyes that seemed to pierce through your very soul.

Colin nodded.

"T. . .?" The brunet let the unasked question hang in the air.

"Is short for Tara." Colin explained, completely confused as to why Sam suddenly had a tear streaking down his extremely white face.

Dean looked closely at the picture but couldn't find see whatever his brother was seeing and was upset over. "Sam? What the hell is going on?"

"She's alive." Samuel whispered quietly as if in awe and traced his finger down the picture frame.

Both Colin and Dean turned to each other with identical looks of bewilderment.

The female voice yelled out from the other room again. "I'll be right out! Just give me a second!"

Samuel jumped at the vocalization and then without another word went tearing back down the hall and out the front door as if all of Hell's minions were after him.

"Sam! Wait a sec! What. . . where are you going?" Dean yelled after him. Before he could follow, a girl he would place somewhere in her early twenties came walking down the hall to greet him. She looked exactly as she did in the picture except she had a few extra piercing in her ear and a glittering diamond ring sitting proudly on her left hand.

She shook his hand with enthusiasm. "You must be Dean Winchester. I really appreciate you coming down like this. And I'm sorry. I know you were also a friend of Danielle's." Her voice was laced with sorrow and then she looked at him carefully. "You're worried about somebody. . ."

Dean nodded numbly. Normally he would've cracked some smart ass remark about how perceptive her abilities were but. . . damn! He was too worried about Sam.

Tara bit the bottom of her lip and twisted her ring around her finger. "Sam. . ."

"Stop reading my thoughts." Dean growled.

"Sorry. I'm kind of an amateur so I don't really know how to sift through thoughts yet. And you're practically screaming them at me." She added with a weak smile.

Dean didn't answer but Colin cut in. "Isn't it cool? She's new, so sometimes I get to help her with all kinds of things. Yesterday we were casting this totally awesome spell and-"

"Colin." Tara interrupted. "Could you give me and Dean some privacy?"

"Right." Colin nodded his head and turned to open a nearby door while also giving a concerned glance to the front door where Sam disappeared a minute ago. "I'm going to be on the computer." With that, he left the hunter and psychic alone.

Tara nodded her head to Dean. "Come with me."

-SUPERNATURAL-

1:50pm

Samuel slammed the Impala's door behind him and huddled himself into a tight ball, shivering in the passenger seat. Tara was alive. The Blood hadn't gotten to her here. He hadn't realized how just hearing her voice would have affected him like that. The reaction was violent. . . all he wanted to do was cry.

And he did.

One man.

All alone in a car.

He bowed his head.

And he wept.

-SUPERNATURAL-

Ending Author Notes: Woo! For some strange reason, that was the easiest chapter I've ever written! It all seemed to come together just as I wanted it to. Hopefully you're getting more insight into our characters and an understanding on how they're feeling during this whole experience.

Extra note: I only know the basic rules to pool, so I hope it seemed real enough. ;-)

Extra, extra note: Forget about plot bunnies, I've got an entire monster reading over my shoulder.

Your puppy-loving (so?) writer friend - Kerri


	12. Chapter 11

**Note:** I need to give a big hug and thank you to my sister, who I would crash and burn without. A few days ago, my computer crashed and with it went all of my newly written work on this story. Thankfully, my sis is a genious and switched the hard drive on my computer with my laptop so we managed to save all of the new chapters I was going to post. My computer is still toast, but thanks to her, you all have a new chapter to read right now and soon after! THANK YOU!!! - Kerri

**Chapter Eleven: Visionaries**

Thunder rolled angrily immediately after a spidery flash of lighting webbed across the sky.

"You gonna say something man?"

They had been driving for a couple hours now, after running to the motel and packing their stuff. Throughout those hours Sam had yet to say a word. He hadn't even asked where they were going.

Dean occasionally made a weak attempt of conversation or tried to pry some sort of a reaction from his brother, but got nothing in return. If he hadn't seen Sam blink a moment ago then he would have been worried that he was suffering from some kind of a stroke or something.

"Come on Sammy. I thought we were getting past this silent hero complex."

Maybe he needed to take a more personal approach.

"You can tell me you know. Whatever's bothering you, maybe I can help."

Finally, slowly, Sam turned his head, however his expression was still as empty and blank as it was before. "And sometimes," He started quietly. "Some things just need to be dealt with alone."

"That's just bull." Dean growled though his eyes never left the rain-slicked road. The last thing he needed right now was to get into crash.

"No." Sam turned back to the window, watching as the myriad of pine and maple trees were come and passed in a matter of seconds. "It's the truth. Deal with it."

"Dammit Sam-" Dean's angry tirade was cut short by the deep yet shrill honking of a large semi truck riding up behind them. It was coming too close too fast to be going the speed limit. "Shit!" Stuck between a feeling of panic and déjà vu, the hunter jerked on the wheel and with a screech of tires swerved out of the way.

But the road had no traction. Instead of simply getting out of the truck's way, the Impala was left spinning in circles until Dean hit the brakes and it squealed with a teeth rattling stop.

They both watched in morbid fascination as the large vehicle flew past them and raced down the road at a neck breaking speed.

For several moments they remained motionless in their seats, letting the knowledge on how close that had been sink in with nauseating clarity. Dean swallowed the growing lump in his throat and looked over to see that Sam was still in the exact position he was before the near collision.

"Sam? You okay?"

Sam blinked, shifted his eyes over to the elder and faked a grin. An actual grin! "Yeah. I'm good. You?"

"I'm alright."

Silence hung in the air until Dean slowly pressed down once again on the gas pedal, letting his baby purr before heading back out onto the now empty road.

"So where are we going?"

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. The silence had gone on for so long and the fact that it was Sam who spoke. . . "Uh, Kansas."

"Kansas? Why?"

"Turns out Tara and us have a mutual acquaintance."

Sam looked suddenly interested. "Really? Who?"

"Missouri."

It did not go unnoticed that immediately after Dean said her name, the car began to vibrate and shake violently. "What the hell?" The elder began to hit the brakes but though his foot hit the pedal, nothing happened. Just as suddenly, the vehicle started to swerve.

It was like they were replaying the scene that took place a mere moment ago, except there wasn't a truck about smash into them and it wasn't Dean who was turning the wheel. As a matter of fact, he wasn't doing anything save for trying to stop.

But it seemed that the Impala would have none of it.

Both men's eyes were wide open and fear was sketched all over their faces as the car sped up and went flying off the road, down a long and very steep rock riddled hill. In Sam's case, severe pain was also written over his features.

Dean frantically hit the brakes and tried to turn the wheel but to no avail. Lightning cracked across the sky and lit up a previously invisible oak tree sitting right in front of the oncoming car. Thoughts of stopping were completely discarded as Dean and Sam threw their hands up in front of their faces mere seconds before the Impala crashed into the tree.

Sam's seatbelt snapped due to the force of the impact and was sent flying through the windshield, skidding a ways before halting limply on the blacktop. Dean felt the spray of the glass as it pelted his body and face jerked forward, smashing into the wheel with an impressive force.

Silence hovered ominously over the crash-site, leaving a broken man half sprawled on the blacktop and half wedged between the car and oak, and a dazed and confused driver frozen from shock as his own head wound bled.

All that remained was the pouring rain, roaring thunder, and a faint yet familiar ring tone, echoing through the thickened air. . .

-SUPERNATURAL-

"NO!"

All motion and chatter ceased in the merry bar as the newly celebrated pool champion fell to the floor in a writhing mass, groaning in obvious pain as he clutched his head between his white knuckled hands.

"Dean?" Ben had quickly run over and placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Are you okay son?"

"Hurts. . ." He hissed out. "Why does it hurt?"

"Somebody call an ambulance!" He yelled out and surprisingly, Jeremy was the first to react, digging out his cell and punching in the numbers.

"Son, I want you to stay with me." Ben tried to coax softly.

"Crash. . ." Sam whimpered. ". . . Blood, so much blood."

"Dean, look at me. How many fingers am I holding?" He tilted the youth's face toward him.

Sam winced as the mellow light of the bar hit his face and he yanked himself away to land once again face down to the ground.

"Did you get the ambulance?" Ben yelled over to Jeremy.

"Their transferring my call." Jeremy growled while glaring down at his phone as if it would make the people on the other end move faster.

"Don't worry about it." A gruff voice broke in.

Jeremy, Ben, and everybody except for Sam who was too busy trying not to pass out, looked over to where the speaker had stood up.

"I'm his brother." The man continued as if that explained everything.

"Don't you want to call an ambulance?" A blond woman asked timidly - who's name was Penny in case you were wondering.

"Not really." The man with eyepatch said. "You see Sa- uh, Dean here has a mental condition. Kind of a wacked out schizophrenia I guess. Sometimes when he gets stressed out about something, he freaks and starts seeing things that aren't really there."

The crowd began bobbing their heads up and down as the explanation started to make sense. Jeremy paled and looked guilty. Ben actually felt sorry for him.

"That's why I came over here when I found out he hadn't taken his meds today." He looked apologetic and glanced at a shattered cue stick that had broken under Sam's weight when he fell. "I'm sorry about all this. Maybe I can pay for the damage?"

Ben shook his head firmly. "Don't even give it a second thought. Just make sure that your brother gets cared for and I'll be happy."

The man smiled gratefully. "Thank you." And with that he gathered up a practically limp Sam in his arms and walked out the door, into the oncoming storm. The wind whipped past him and tugged harshly at his jacket and hair as he placed Sam into the passenger seat of a recently stolen truck.

He climbed into the driver's seat and waved a good-natured final goodbye to the friendly bar patrons before heading out to the road. As soon as the vehicle rounded the corner, his smile melted away and a dark frown took residence instead. "Stupid bastards. All you need is a good sob story or a handicap and you can get away with any kind of shit."

He rubbed absently at his patch. "I've got both."

Sam moaned miserably for several seconds until he finally passed out and gave way to silence, leaving only the growl of the truck and the rumbling of the nearing storm to fill in the quiet.

"Poor little sonuvabitch." He mused uncaringly. "That's going to be one hell of a headache when he wakes up."

-SUPERNATURAL-

2:10pm

Tara ushered Dean into a small room that in comparison to the rest of the house, was quite dark and bordering on creepy. Candles were lit, bringing the only light to see by, and the place was covered wall to wall with shelves and shelves of books. Books on the paranormal; extrasensory powers took up the majority of the space.

Dean suddenly felt a sharp jab in his leg and bit his lip. It was like someone was poking him with a small pin or something. The word, 'moron' flitted through his mind, but he discounted it when the 'poking' ended and blew a long quiet whistle while running his fingers over the hundreds of binders. "These really give you more insight into your power?"

Tara laughed and ran her hand lightly through her dark hair. "Nah, it's mostly hogwash. Before I found out that I actually possessed the ability, I would collect and read these like they were the Bible. A few of the authors seem to know what they are talking about, and the rest. . . They just wish they did."

Dean nodded and walked over to a table that held paper clippings and a few pictures of Danielle. Alive and dead. "I've only known one person who really knew the tricks of the trade."

"Who's that?" Tara asked, suddenly interested.

"A 'friend' I met in Kansas not so long ago-"

"Missouri?"

Dean glanced up in surprise. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"Well my only other option was The Mysterious Mr. Fortensky, so I took a leap of faith and went with the one that was easier to pronounce. Plus she was my mentor so to speak."

The dark blond actually grinned at that. "And here I thought you were reading my mind or something."

Tara sat down and laughed with him. "Sorry. I'm not nearly good enough to read actual thoughts. Right now I get more emotions and vague ideas. Sometimes I get tossed a couple names, but that's about it."

Dean tapped his fingers on one of the pictures laying still on the table. It was a snapshot of Danielle in the warehouse after she died. "So if that's all you get, how are you going to be able to help with only these," He pointed to pictures and a small plastic bag of something he couldn't identify. "To help?"

Tara shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I don't know for sure that I can. But I sure as hell am going to give it a try. Dani was my friend and I need to help bring this to justice. That's why I called you." She rifled through the plastic bag. "I'm hoping that maybe I can obtain traces of her emotions during her last moments. Fear, calm. . . who the hell knows? Maybe I can get a reading on if she knew the person that nabbed her or not."

Dean bit his bottom lip and nodded agreeably. "Okay. Where do we start?"

-SUPERNATURAL-

Unknown Time

The rain came down in a steady rhythm of drips and patters, falling unnoticed to the single figure sitting alone on a simple concrete park bench. The trees swayed and bowed to the wind as it rippled through the young man's longer brown hair like the small waves in the lake before him. It also failed to catch his interest, his jacket tossed aside, laying uselessly next to him. The leaves danced playfully between his feet and legs but soon fluttered away in the foggy distance leaving the still man to his thoughts.

Samuel stared listlessly past the open water and through the pouring rain, his dark hair clinging desperately to his forehead. He may have been sitting on a park bench in person, but in spirit, in mind he was somewhere else. He was back in that dark alley listening to Tara's screams as she was dragged away by the Blood. He could remember the way that despite the agonizing pain in his leg begging him to remain still, he dragged himself after her in a last effort to save her. He could see the light fading in her eyes as the gunshot rang and she fell lifelessly to the ground.

These were the places his mind wandered on days like this. Especially today.

It was days like these that made him feel like the failure he was. Days that laughed at his miserableness and mocked him. Days that reminded him how completely and utterly alone he truly was. Salty tears were mixed with the rain as they both splashed near silently at his feet creating a small river that flowed only a few feet before falling in a gutter at the corner. Brought forth and then forgotten.

"Samuel."

Samuel didn't need to look up to know who it was. It was the same person who always came on days like this. "Why are you here?"

"Aw, now Sammy boy. Is that any way to talk to an old friend?"

"Go to hell."

"I think we've had this conversation before."

Samuel could feel the presence of the man as he sat down next to him on the bench. It was cold, and empty. "Then maybe you should get the hint and leave me alone."

"But it's our anniversary. Four long years together. Well a day of each of those four years anyway. You didn't expect me to forget did you?" The sound of the man's voice was like venomous honey, oozing and dripping with false sympathy and understanding.

"I could only wish."

"True. But that's why I'm here isn't it? To help you with your wish."

"You some kind of genie now?" Samuel continued to stare ahead, refusing to look the man in the eyes.

"Oh, come now. Like I would be anything so poultry as to a djinn. You know I am so much more." The smile on his face could practically be heard. "And you know that with me, _you_ could be so much more."

Samuel gritted his teeth and clenched his fists tightly. "All I know is that I want you to leave me the hell alone."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

The man seemed to think about that for a moment before standing up, his black trenchcoat trailing to the rain soaked ground. "Well, if you ever change your mind. . ." Out of nowhere a small dagger was procured and handed to the forlorn man. "You know how to get in touch."

Samuel's fingers tightened around the silver blade and he lifted his eyes just in time to watch as the average sized gray haired man walked away and disappeared into the thick fog.

He hated that man. With every fiber of his being, he wished he could just plunge that knife into his heart and rid himself of the manipulating weasel. But still, he couldn't deny the sense of loss and sorrow he felt everytime he went away.

And it was at times like these that he felt like he was being swallowed alive. . . and that the gray haired man with the intense yellow eyes was his only way out. . .

-SUPERNATURAL-

Samuel woke up with a frightened gasp. He hadn't dreamt about that for years, and today. . . why would he remember that now? He glanced down at his wrist and saw that even through the makeup covering his tattoo, a small radiating glow still shone through.

'Oh God no.'

-SUPERNATURAL-

Ending Author notes: So, did that opening vision have you freaked out? Are you wondering what Tara and Dean are going to discover? Want to know what the eyepatch man has in store for Sam? Do you think Samuel really is evil? Think you know why he's here in the first place? Go ahead, take a guess and/or leave a comment. I hope to hear your theories and thoughts. It wouldn't be the same without you all and your support. (no, seriously)

Extra note: You see, Kender Rock My World, that's what happens when you start sticking pins into voodoo dolls. Poor Dean was traumatized by the experience. ;-)

Your rambling writer friend - Kerri


	13. Chapter 12

**Note: **Thank you's to everyone who reviewed last chapter! (Kender Rock My World, Poaetpainter, psiChic) I've been having a really bad case of writer's block, and your reviews really are helping me pull through. Thank you guys. hands cookies out

I'm not so sure how I feel about this chapter, but my sis said it was good, so I'm trusting her judgement. Please enjoy!

**Chapter Twelve: All Mixed Up**

(Spoilers for first season and first/second epi of season two)

Still Wednesday 4:32pm

-:- A Narration by Sam Winchester

I don't remember much about that Wednesday. I don't recall any more about the small room I was in either. All I know was that it was dark.

And hazy.

Dark and hazy. . . yeah, that's what it was.

Hark.

Or maybe dazy?

It didn't matter. All that mattered was that I was in there, tied to a hard wooden chair for hours. Probably longer. I was asleep for most of it I think. After waking up, for the first few hours I did nothing but sit there and wait. Wait for what? I don't know. I was just. . . waiting.

After nothing happened, I did the next most rational thing. I screamed. I yelled.

What else was there? Who knows? I sure didn't.

I didn't know anything. My mind was a swirling mass of complete blanks and holes.

I was an empty vessel. A shell of a man I knew nothing about.

A broken toy that was shoved under the bed and forgotten.

I had nothing left to give.

And so I was then forced back to my silence. It was hell on earth.

Or maybe it really was hell.

It was too dark to tell. . .

Just as my mind began to scream insanity, a bright light pierced through the darkness, temporarily blinding me in it's shining glory. I felt that I should be relieved. That I was saved! But instead there was only a feeling of complete dread washing over me. I wasn't saved. I was trapped.

-:- Narration Ends

-SUPERNATURAL-

4:33pm

The wooden door screeched ominously as it was slowly pushed open. All that shone through was a bright light from the other side, only to be stopped by a tall figure standing in the doorway, letting his shadow stretch across the concrete floor, halting mere inches away from the prisoner sitting dejectedly in the hard wooden chair.

The captive's head was hung over so that his chin was near touching his chest, letting his dirty brown hair hang limply before his face.

"Sam."

The man did not answer but continued to stare downwards, his hazel eyes - though mostly covered by his hair - glinted a bright golden color from the beam of light still shining at him.

His arms were held down by the tight ropes that bound him tightly to the chair he sat in, and his feet were similarly restrained.

"What, you're not talking now?"

The man came forward to stand directly in front of the captive. "I wish I could say that it's good to see you Sam, but I think we both know better."

Sam raised his head slightly and slowly. It was aching and throbbing like someone had smashed his skull in with a baseball bat or something. "We. . . we know each other?"

The back of the strangers hand cracked across his cheek like a whip, and he could feel the sting of contact, followed by the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

"Don't play dumb with me."

Sam spit out the crimson liquid and glared at the man, refusing to show fear; even though every part of him was screaming for him to curl up in a fetal position and beg for mercy. There was something. . . something that refused to give in to these urges. Something that told him that he was stronger than that.

It was interesting. He never imagined his conscience would use so many swear words to get its point across.

"Let me guess," Sam started, unsure what the heck he was about to do. "Highschool. We were in the same knitting class together."

"Shut up." There was another loud crack as the man's fist collided with his jaw.

Sam once again spat out the blood collecting in his mouth and turned on a shit eating grin. "Dude, you hit like a girl."

The man turned red with fury and Sam knew with a sinking feeling that he pushed it too far. At lightning speed, the captor struck out with his fist, and hit with deadly accuracy.

Sam could barely suppress the scream of pain as he felt every stitch rip and tear, leaving a damn gaping hole in his side. Looking down, he could see that the blood took no time to begin seeping through his clothes. Oh god, it hurt like hell.

"What? No more jokes? I'm disappointed."

Sam gasped as he felt his head being jerked up by his hair to look straight into the face of his captor. He was a tall, dirty blond. His left eye glittered angrily, and his right was covered by a black eyepatch. Judging by the amount of hair growth on his face, Sam guessed that the man also hadn't shaven in a couple of days.

As he stared up into the eyes - well, eye anyway - and face of the man, Sam felt a small sense of recognition tingling down his spine in small waves. A dull throbbing began to slowly pound at the back of his skull.

"I- I know you." It was said as a fact and probably would have sounded more earth shattering if he hadn't been feeling like he was going to throw up at any minute and if those little stars dancing in his head had just taken a break so he could concentrate.

As it was, he could barely get the words out of his mouth.

He tried in vain to collect his thoughts, but seeing as he was still suffering from amnesia, that proved to be a little more difficult than it sounded.

"Yeah, you do know me Sam."

"Why do you keep calling Sam? I thought-"

"That's your problem! You think too damn much!"

Sam could practically feel his teeth rattle as the man's hand struck his jaw with deadly accuracy. Not once, not twice. . . third time's a charm and it only took a fourth forceful blow to cause his head to snap back with enough impact to make the chair fall with him as he toppled over. The chair shattered on impact and left a stunned brunet laying defenselessly on the ground.

Once again, Sam felt a hand wrap around his hair, pulling his face forward so he was close enough to smell the rank breath of his attacker.

"You know what I wonder?" The man began. "I wonder if this is how your victims felt before you killed them."

Killed? He killed someone?

"You remember right? I mean, you don't rack up that many murders without some kind of recollection. You probably even have frickin' pictures stashed somewhere."

"But-" That damn fist just never gave him a break as it uppercut his jaw, knocking his head back to the concrete.

"How's it feel Sammy?" The man spat angrily. "How's it feel to know that you're going to die. . . and there is nothing you can do about it?"

Before Sam could even get his eyes back into focus a hard metal object was jabbed painfully in the center of his back, pressing with just enough pressure to make the intended victim squirm.

"Please. . . stop." A small trickle of blood was streaming from the corners of his lips and his hair fell over his face, blinding him from the rest of the world.

The increasing pressure on his back was stifling. Sam could barely breathe and blood was slowly beginning to fill his mouth. The wounded side was screaming bloody murder at him and his skull was ringing from hitting the concrete without a buffer. It was a miracle he didn't pass out.

He wish he had.

White began to swirl on the edges of his vision.

Wait a minute. . . aren't you supposed to see black?

-SUPERNATURAL-

4:40pm

The man removed the pole and began to pace with slow deliberate steps. He had waited so long for this and now. . . it all was too surreal. This needed to be done with one driven purpose in mind: Pain. All he wanted was to make sure that when this sonuvabitch died, he begged for his life.

"Gah!"

He was surprised at the anguished yell. He had thrown the pole a few feet away. . . he wasn't even touching the guy, and yet he was thrashing about as if someone had speared him through the gut. 'Hm, that's an idea.'

-SUPERNATURAL-

4:40pm

This was the third time Sam ever remembered feeling this kind of pain. Once in the hospital, once in the bar, and now. What the hell it was, he still didn't know. All he knew was that he saw stuff amid unbearable pain and white flashes, and that it never showed anything good. . .

The black Chevy Impala was swerving dangerously across the road, the rain offering no traction to keep the vehicle grounded. The sharp squeal of tires rang through the abandoned road as it slid off the pavement and towards a ditch and large group of trees.

The lightning cracked overhead and a previously invisible oak tree appeared ahead of the car moments before it crashed into it with an impressive show of shattering glass and splintering bark. Instantly the body of a man in the passenger seat was flung forward through the windshield and onto the blacktop, sliding a little ways before coming to a dead stop.

The scene was deathly quiet as the rain pattered around the wreck and the men involved.

As Sam surfaced back to consciousness, all he could remember hearing was the distinct melody - if you could call it that - of 'In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida' coming from a phone sitting next to the dazed driver. He didn't know how he knew the name of the song. It just came to him.

-SUPERNATURAL-

4:44pm

Sam felt the effect of being pulled back into reality, causing a mix reaction of car sickness, sea sickness, and major vertigo. Why the hell was he dreaming about a damn car crash? And how was he having these dreams when he was wide awake?

He really _was_ some kind of freak.

But before unconsciousness could pull him under, he was bombarded with a multitude of flashes. . .

FLASH

"Sammy! Hurry up. It's time for breakfast."

"But I'm tired of plain old oatmeal, Dean. Can't we have the Lucky Charms instead?"

:-:-:

"Dean. Is daddy ever going to come back?" Six year old Sam asked with small tears in his eyes.

Dean, at ten, looked out the window and nodded grimly. "Yeah, Sammy." He ruffled his hand through the younger's hair. "He'll be back soon." He added quietly under his breath, "I hope."

:-:-:

"Dean!" Sam yelled angrily, though his voice cracked a bit, giving away the fact that he was going through the dreaded voice change.

Dean looked up from the knife he was sharpening on the cracked motel table. "Dude, shut the door, keep the voice down, you sound like a girl and: what?"

"What the hell were you doing this afternoon?"

"What did Dad tell you about swearing?"

"To hell with Dad!" Sam yelled again, though Dean could tell that he didn't mean it.

"I gave Natalie a lift home from school. Why?"

"Natalie?" Sam was incredulous. "You mean the same Natalie that I've been telling you about for the last few weeks? The same Natalie that I finally asked out on a date? The same Natalie who said yes and then stood me up this afternoon? For you? That Natalie?"

"I was doing you a favor." Dean asserted.

"Stay out of my life!" Sam spat angrily before running back outside.

:-:-:

"Dad hasn't been back in a few days."

"So? He's probably camping out at a cabin somewhere with his beer to keep him company."

Dean paused a moment before rephrasing. "Dad's on a hunting trip. . ." He let the words sink in, watching Sam's expression change to one of slight worry while Jessica's remained utterly confused. ". . . And he hasn't been home in a few days."

"Jess, can my brother and I have a moment alone?"

:-:-:

Sam glared down at Dean while he pointed the gun straight at the elder's head.

"What? You're gonna shoot me? You hate me that much?"

Dean's question was met with the hollow clicks as Sam pulled back on the trigger multiple times, trying to make the empty chamber produce a bullet.

:-:-:

"Dean?" Sam asked, almost uncertainly.

The Ouija board's dial slowly scraped across the woodwork until it landed on the word 'Yes'

:-:-:

The smoke rose slowly as both brother's watched their father's remains go up in flame. Tears streaked down Sam and Dean's faces as the weight of the situation hit them and they realized that no matter how invincible their dad seemed, John Winchester was dead. . .

FLASH

With a final groan, Sam let his body go lax and his face lay miserably on the cold hard floor, eyes squeezed tight as a never-ending spell of dizziness and nausea overtook him. "Dean."

-SUPERNATURAL-

4:46pm

The man watched coldly as Sam's head fell limply to the ground.

"That's right little brother."

He moved over to a vacant corner and sat down, his eyes never leaving the unconscious man.

"Dean's back. And this time, I plan to finish what I started."

-SUPERNATURAL-

-:- Quick note by Kerri B.

Okay, it is official. The second doppelgänger is Dean! crazed manic cackle Now, I know that 'our' Sam is Sam, and the 'other' Sam is Samuel, but Dean doesn't really have a nickname, so you're just going to have to remember that the 'other' Dean has an eyepatch, and 'ours' doesn't. The 'other' Dean also is generally more hateful and bitter. Does that make sense? I hope so.

So now that I have probably completely confused you all to heck, on with the rest of the chapter!

-:- Quick note over

-SUPERNATURAL-

5:48pm

Dean had been sifting through pictures and other scraped together evidence for hours. He looked over from his fruitless labors to see if Tara had been any more successful. Judging by her furrowed brows, deep frown, and the occasional curse, he guessed that she had not.

This wasn't going as planned.

a) Sam wasn't here. He was research guy, not Dean. But instead, said brother was sitting in the Impala doing hell knows what

b) Dean didn't really know what to look for

c) Tara didn't either.

d) They also weren't stumbling across something important like what happens way to frequently in the movies

e) He felt his Sammy senses going off

No, he didn't really have Sammy senses. Well, not in the literal sense anyway. It was more like a vague feeling that something was wrong. Just like when you have your eyes closed but can still feel a presence when somebody comes near.

It was driving him crazy.

He had even taken a break from the research to quickly look out the window to be sure that Sam was still okay. He was fine. More than fine. He was sleeping.

So Sam was safe. That was good to know.

But then why couldn't he shake the feeling that his brother was in grave danger?

* * *

Ending Author notes: You would not be able to guess how long it took me to finish that chapter and how many versions I wrote and then promptly discarded. It was so depressing. But now it is done! I can officially move on to the next chapter. dances for joy 

Extra note: Yep, Sam has his memories back. One heck of a time for that too. . . But will the fact that he remembers be a help or a hindrance against Doppelgänger!Dean?

Extra, extra note: I promise you, I will kick this writers block to the curb and finally give some answers as to what is going on next chapter. Unless my fingers take a life of their own when I start typing, I plan that the next chapter will be pretty exciting and revealing, so tell me what you think and keep your fingers crossed.

Your happily clueless writer friend - Kerri B.


	14. Chapter 13

**Note:** I feel I owe an apology to everyone who is confused, upset, or annoyed at Samuel's sudden apparent change of heart. To give you all a little insight, I must admit that when I began this story, I, for all purposes had intended for him to be the epitome of evil. He was supposed to be this dang-awful heartless dude going around making the boys life a confusing yet living hell. But as I was writing (by the way, I began this story around January) it hit me that my doppelgänger had to have some kind of back story. There had to be some reason he was like this. And as I continued down this train of thought, I discovered what a truly sad and pathetic person he was. Soon, my story took on this idea that he does indeed have some form of a conscience and is conflicted with what sort of a man he is. (If you've ever read or watched Lord of the Rings, you may compare him to a hotter version of Gollum) Believe me when I say that he will finally choose a side soon, (for good or ill) and that he has reasons to doubt himself and who he is.

I ask that you please keep these thoughts in mind as you continue to read this story. Also, if you have any more questions pertaining to Samuel's character please do not hesitate in asking. If you don't ask, you can't get an answer.

Thanks for your support people. I love you all and am so amazed that you have stuck with me from the beginning of my very first story ever. Now I shall step down from my soapbox and let you continue on in my crazy world of doppelgängers, live rocks, and lonely newspapers. Please enjoy. :) - Kerri

---

**Chapter Thirteen: Candlesticks and Car Crashes**

Wednesday at 6:00pm

Sam's head hurt like a bitch. His side felt even worse.

"You're waking up."

'Captain Obvious strikes again.' Sam thought miserably before taking a look at his surroundings. That was when he realized that it was too dark to see anything. The floor was cold though; felt like concrete. "Dean?"

"That's my name. Glad you remember it so well."

Well, at least Dean was being his snarky old self. Sam needed that. But where were they? Why was he on the floor? And why did his side hurt so damn much? He lifted his hand from his side and instantly recognized the sticky liquid on his fingers to be blood. There was also more pooling next to his body. Its coppery smell wafted up to his nostrils and he suddenly wanted to gag.

But Dean was here. He would fix this. It's what he did. But then why didn't he?

Something felt wrong; oh so wrong.

He knew that something bad happened, but what was it?

"I remember." Sam blinked quickly as the flood of memories assaulted him, though not as fast and as furious as before. This was more of a filling in the blanks kind of flood. He now could recall what happened when he had the amnesia, and. . . "Dean, what's going on?"

On the other side of the room the crackling sound of a match striking against wood could be heard and then the warm glow of a small fire illuminated the little room. It was soft but Sam still flinched and squinted to protect his eyes.

He watched as Dean moved around and produced a candle from a desk off to his right. Soon, they both were standing - well, Sam was still on the floor. - in a lightened warehouse room.

"You should know what's going on." Dean growled. "After all these years, you didn't think you were going to get away with it all, did you?"

"Get away?" Sam was honestly confused. Dean moved in closer so that his face was more visible and Sam gave a surprised gasp. Dean's right eye was covered by a black eyepatch and a small yet visible scar was set at the end of his left eyebrow, giving him a surprisingly menacing appearance. Even to him. "Years, Dean? Your eye? What happened?"

'How long was I out of it?' Sam wondered to himself. 'Was I in a coma?'

"I'm surprised you give a crap." Dean laughed out mirthlessly. "I mean, especially since you were the one that did this to me."

That was probably the last thing Sam was expecting to hear. He couldn't have done that to Dean. "What?"

"Stop acting all innocent." He barked out and then gave a small smile that had Sam squirming under the amused scrutiny. "Honestly, seeing you now, I can't figure out how the hell you evaded me for so long. You're pathetic." Dean spat.

Sam's mind was whirling in a thousand different directions, unsure how to handle this. The last time something like this had happened, there had been a skin-walker. That had to be it. Sam couldn't think of another explanation for what was going on and when he thought about it, it really made sense. Ignoring the pain that was screaming from his side, Sam pushed himself to a sitting position and glared at his not-brother Dean.

"You're not Dean."

"Yes I am."

"No, you're not." Sam almost felt like laughing. This skin-walker actually thought he was going to trick him into believing that he was Dean? "We've already dealt with skin-walkers before, and you're not even convincing."

Dean - not-Dean glared at him.

Sam continued while he still could. "At least the last one tried to make it believable. I mean, the eyepatch?"

Now the not-brother was clenching his fists.

"I have no clue what you were trying to accomplish by all this, but if you really wanted to kill me, you should have done it when I was unconscious." Sam prodded farther. His head was swimming and his side felt like someone was ripping the skin apart, but he refused to worry about that now. Right now he had to get out of here, and in order to beat this creature, he had to throw him off balance first.

"You arrogant sonuvabitch." Not-Dean hissed. "After everything you have done, all the lives you've ruined, you expect me to let you go? Besides," A small smile curled his lips. "Even if I was a skin-walker, you don't have any silver with you."

It was with that statement that Sam could feel his heart sinking. It was right, he didn't have any silver. . . He looked desperately around the room and then felt his cockiness return. The candlestick was silver. For the most part, it was entirely blunt, which would make it useless, but he remembered that in the center there was a sharp spoke that was to hold the candle in place. If he could just get over to the desk and take the candle out before not-Dean got to him.

But he had to prepare for the worst. Last time he had been taken by a skin-walker, Dean had been tied in the room with him. He had to be sure whether or not it was the same here. If Dean was hidden somewhere in the room, the skin-walker could take him as hostage before Sam could even make it to the desk.

He had to move fast, though if his side had anything to say about it, fast would mean turtle crawl. But that wasn't an option.

"If you think that you're throwing me off with your story about me being a skin-walker, then your wrong Sam. I think we both know that you're just scared." Not-Dean was now leaning and whispering right into his ear. "I would be too, if I were you. Cause, I think you and me both know where you're going when I kill you. Say hi to that sonuvabitch Yellow-Eyed demon for me."

Sam reacted quickly and scrambled out of the way of the plunging knife, missing the sharpened edge by scarce an inch. Intent on reaching the desk for the silver candlestick, he pushed himself forward only to be forced back down onto the ground with a painful thud.

The skin-walker was on top of him and to the hunter's horror, still had the knife in his hand.

"It's time to pay Sammy."

The knife came down yet again, but Sam threw his hand up to grab the arm with the offending weapon and keep it from plunging into his throat. He barely had enough strength to lift up his arm period. "Gah." Both men were fiercely pushing on the other, willing the other to slip or lose their hold.

The pressure was becoming too strenuous for the healing hunter. It then dawned on him that the skin-walker kept referring to something he had done. Other than the eye thing. If these creatures could take memories from the original, then maybe he was talking about something he had done to his brother.

Despite the fact that he was in the middle of a death struggle, curiosity got the better hold of him and he gasped out. "What the hell did I do?"

Now, had they been in a room with better lighting, Sam might have noticed the tears forming in the doppelgänger's eyes, but there was only that single candle, and he was a bit preoccupied in the trying to get answers but not die department. Tears were the least of his concerns.

Dean wasn't sure he could hold it together anymore. Maybe Sam was right, maybe he should have just killed him while he was unconscious. This was suddenly becoming a whole lot harder than it was supposed to be. The tears had arrived, and now, there was no going back.

"You killed them!" He screamed out angrily. "You killed them all!

"You killed every-fucking-one I ever loved!"

If Dean had stood there and purposely kicked a crying puppy, (a non-demon possessed one) Sam wouldn't have been as surprised as he was now. Struck speechless might have also been a pretty damn understatement considering the situation.

"It's your fault mom died, and it's because of you that I never got to say good bye to dad!"

'My fault?' It was all Sam could do to be sure that he didn't lose his grip on his not-brother's arm. But he was quickly weakening, both physically and mentally, because the more Dean spoke, the more Sam thought that maybe it really was his brother. And maybe he was finally saying what he felt. And maybe, maybe he was right. . .

"You killed your girlfriend," Dean continued, trying to stem the break of tears flowing. This wasn't how this was supposed to happen. This wasn't how he was supposed to feel. "And you killed mine. I was going to ask her to marry me you frickin' murderer!"

'What?' Sam's arm slipped slightly and he flung his head to the side to keep from being impaled right then and there. "C- Cassie?" There was a quiver in his voice and the younger knew that he needed to get out of here before he passed out.

"Cassie?" Dean was confused; the knife remained motionless at his side as he furrowed his brows, trying to figure out who the hell Sam was talking about. "Who the hell is Cassie?"

And it was in that small, horrifying moment that Sam realized this wasn't his brother, and it wasn't a skin-walker either. . .

"Who are you?" Sam asked nervously.

Dean's eyes flashed angrily and he raised the knife yet again. "How many times do I have to tell you?! I'm your freaking brother!"

Sam panicked when he saw Dean lunge at him and did the one thing he seemed to be able to tell his body to do. Retaliate. In one strong, swift, and knuckle breaking moment, Sam struck out with his good arm and landed a jaw popping hit across the other's jaw.

Dean fell to the ground with a surprised cry of pain, and he didn't stand back up.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God." Sam chanted over and over again as he scurried away from the fallen body, almost-but not quite- able to ignore the pain lancing up and down his arm from the blow. He just knew that he broke something in his hand.

Again he looked down at the Dean laying still on the ground and started to freak. Life was not fair. Sure, he of all people knew that already, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to file a personal complaint. Hey, maybe all those visions and crap he gets, granted him some special perks from the man upstairs. Or then again, maybe they were the reason that the big guy seemed to be ignoring him of late.

"You know Sam," He started to say to himself. "You'd probably be a whole lot less depressed if you would just. Quit. Thinking."

Okay, I think we already established that he was feeling a bit on the insane side, but what was he going to do with Dean-turned not-Dean-turned Dean again?. . .

Sam crawled his way back towards the body and started to drag him behind one of the giant crates sitting in the back of the room. It took several minutes and Sam knew that if he didn't hurry, he wouldn't be getting out of this room. And if he didn't get out of here he would probably die of bloodloss. "I guess hurrying is the only option then."

Just as he pushed the man behind the large wooden box and was about to begin his crawling trek back to the door, Sam's hand brushed against something sticking out of the guy's pocket. It felt like. . .

His wallet. What the hell was his wallet doing in Dean-not-Dean-now Dean's pocket?

Taking his now found wallet, Sam resumed his belly crawl to his sweet escape, but just as he reached up to the doorknob and pushed the door open, he felt his legs go numb underneath him and buckled. His knees were the first to hit the hard cement outside the room, his hands next, followed promptly by the side of his head.

The door was open, he had scraped himself by into the empty yet equally dark hallway, freedom was at hand, and yet the laws of physics and the fact that he had been bleeding heavily for the last several minutes were refusing to be ignored.

Sam lay unmoving on the hard floor, fighting to keep himself from falling into that black beautiful void and failing. In no time at all, his mind was drifting among the clouds and Sam was comfortably numb.

-SUPERNATURAL-

7:15pm

When it's not so much raining anymore - be it the little drops you'd trace down a window or in the bucket loads, cats and dogs sort of way - but rather slamming into your car like a ton of bricks falling from the top of a fifty story building, you know it's time to pull over.

When you haven't seen another car on the road since the sky began to turn purple, and the wind is blowing hard enough that you have your hands white knuckled on the steering wheel to keep the vehicle from flipping over, you really know it's time to pull over.

When you can no longer even see the windshield wipers, when you're not even sure that you're on the road anymore, when the last thing you heard on the radio before it gave way to crackling static was tornado and flash flood warnings, and when you realize that you left your last m&m stash back in the trunk, you so totally know it's time to pull over.

So one may ask themselves, though without the promise of an answer, why Dean Winchester refused to pull over.

Thunder rolled angrily immediately after a spidery flash of lightning webbed across the sky.

"You gonna say something man?"

Dean had been driving for a couple hours now, after running to the motel and packing their stuff. Throughout those hours Sam had yet to say a word. He hadn't even asked where they were going. It was making Dean nervous, even more so than the storm outside.

Sure, his brother was always quiet, but not this quiet.

Dean occasionally made a weak attempt of conversation or tried to pry some sort of a reaction from his brother, but got nothing in return. If he hadn't seen Sam blink a moment ago then he would have been worried that he was suffering from some kind of a stroke or something.

"Come on Sammy. I thought we were getting past this silent hero complex." Sam remained still and Dean sighed. "You can tell me you know. Whatever's bothering you, maybe I can help."

Finally, slowly, Sam turned his head, however his expression was still as empty and blank as it was before. "And sometimes," He started quietly. "Some things just need to be dealt with alone."

"That's just bull." Dean growled though his eyes never left the rain-slicked road. - or at least he was pretty sure it was the road. He couldn't really see anything - The last thing he needed right now was to get into crash.

"No," Sam turned back to the window, watching as the myriad of invisible pine and maple trees were come and passed in a matter of seconds. "It's the truth Dean. Deal with it."

"Dammit Sam-" Dean's angry tirade was cut short by the deep yet shrill honking of a large semi truck riding up behind them. It was coming too close and too fast to let the hunter feel comfortable. But at least he now knew he was on the road. Well, unless the truck was just as lost as he.

"Shit!" Stuck between a feeling of panic and déjà vu from months ago, the hunter jerked on the wheel and with a screech of tires as he swerved out of the way.

But the road had no traction. Instead of simply getting out of the truck's way, the Impala was left spinning in circles until Dean hit the brakes and it squealed to a teeth rattling stop. They both watched in morbid fascination as the large vehicle flew past them and raced down the road at a neck breaking speed. The honking of the semi's horn was the only thing they could hear as it disappeared into the distance.

For several moments they remained motionless in their seats, letting the knowledge on how close that had been sink in with nauseating clarity. Dean swallowed the growing lump in his throat and looked over to see that Sam was still in the exact position he was before the near collision.

"Sam? You okay?"

Sam blinked, shifted his eyes over to the elder and nodded affirmatively "Yeah. I'm good. You?"

"I'm alright."

Silence passed for several moments until Dean pressed down on the gas to resume their trip. The Impala roared to life, but the mud on the side of the road had other ideas. Dean grimaced as he heard the squealing of the tires as they tried to free themselves from the muddy bog, but to no avail.

"Shit." Dean growled under his breath. Digging a flashlight from the glove department, the hunter opened his door only to be instantly soaked in the downpour. There was no way the leather seats were going to be able to take much more abuse like this. Come to think of it, Dean was feeling a little wear and tear himself.

He quickly shut his door after stepping outside, in an attempt to save his precious interior from any more damage, but it was too late to save himself. The rain water had already drenched his clothes and hair from the three seconds he spent outside, and the force at which it was hitting him was sure to leave red marks all over any unprotected skin.

Jogging and slipping around his car to the rear of the vehicle was an adventure all on own as he fell twice and dropped his flashlight three times. He also ripped his jeans on the metal fender when rounding the final corner. "Damn." He swore angrily.

Trying to ignore his misfortune, Dean ridded himself of the flashlight and placed both his hands strategically on the fender and trunk, and braced his feet out behind him. "Alright Sam!" He yelled out over the storm, his voice nearly drowning in the noise like the grass beneath him. "Start her up!"

Without further instruction, Dean heard the Impala being revved up, followed, he knew, by Sam pressing down on the gas pedal. Dean knew this not because the car decided to move, but because the rear tires instantly kicked up the slimy mud from the ground onto his clothes, face, shoes, hands, hair. . . it reminded him so much of the time when he first brought Sam from college and fell off that bridge. Except this time the rain was only making it worse.

Dean pushed with all his might to free the Impala from its captivity. With one final shove and one final drenching of mud, his baby was dislodged and lurched from her stationary placing to the road. The doused hunter picked up his flashlight and ran forward, reaching the driver's door just as a flash of lightning lit up the sky, allowing him to get a vague reading on their location.

Luckily enough they were right next to a highway sign and it was confirming that he was indeed still heading the direction he needed to go.

Flinching when he felt the mud sliding between him and the seat, Dean placed his equally dirty hands on the wheel, forcing himself not to scream in frustration. The Impala purred under his hand and he pressed lovingly down on the pedal, slowly easing the car forward.

They continued at that pace for quite some time before Sam finally and surprisingly spoke up. "So, where are we going?"

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. The silence had gone on for so long that the elder was actually getting used to he. He nearly forgot that his brother was even in the car with him.

"Uh, Kansas."

"Kansas? Why?"

'Why?' Dean thought sarcastically. 'If you hadn't run off to the Impala and left me for all the research and planning then you would know why.' But he bit his tongue and answered instead. "Turns out Tara and we have a mutual acquaintance."

Sam looked suddenly interested. "Really? Who?"

"Missouri."

-SUPERNATURAL-

7:30pm

Samuel couldn't help it. He had to know. Being silent was getting too hard.

"So, where are we going?"

He watched with only slight amusement when Dean jumped at the question.

"Uh, Kansas."

Kansas? Why were they going to Kansas? Samuel was quickly getting a sinking and sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Kansas? Why?"

"Turns out Tara and we have a mutual acquaintance."

Samuel perked up. This might be okay after all. Maybe they would know someone else from his other life. 'Wouldn't that be interesting?' Samuel thought with some interest. "Really? Who?"

"Missouri."

"M-Missouri?" Samuel asked uncertainly.

"Yeah man, Missouri."

Oh, no, no, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Not Missouri. Anybody but her.

"She said not to. . . She warned me." Sam stumbled, panicked.

"_Don't find me Sam. I'm warning you. Stay away from me, because you have no idea who I will be, or what I will know, or what I could do."_

That was what she said, and now Dean was taking him right to her. . .

"What? Sam, what the hell are you talking about?"

That was when he felt it. He felt it every time something like this happened.

'Not now, not here! Please!' He begged silently to himself, but it was too late. It always started with the burning behind his eyes, the white hot fire that seemed to incinerate his very soul. Then there was the feeling of hurt, anger. . . fear. All these emotions pent up with nowhere to go. Until now.

The flames of his tattoo began to burn while he felt like he was burning alive, and there was nothing he could do about it. Once he let himself go, there was no way to stop until it was all over.

"No!"

And the car began to shake.

-SUPERNATURAL-

7:33pm

"No!"

"Sam? Sam!" Dean was torn between helping his brother and keeping the car on the road. Normally, there wouldn't have been any contest but the car had just begun to shake and there wasn't any thunder rolling as of now. Something was wrong.

Just as he came to the conclusion to pull over and help Sam, the Impala's steering wheel jerked to the right, bringing the squeal of tires the car began to swerve on the open road.

It was like they were replaying the scene that took place a mere moment ago, except there wasn't a truck about smash into them and it wasn't Dean who was turning the wheel. As a matter of fact, he wasn't doing anything save for trying to stop.

But it seemed that the Impala would have none of it.

Both men's eyes were wide open and fear was sketched all over their faces as the car sped up and went flying off the road, down a long and very steep rock riddled hill. In Sam's case, severe pain was also written over his features.

Dean frantically hit the brakes and tried to turn the wheel but to no avail.

"Sammy hold on!" He managed to yell out before lightning cracked across the sky and lit up a previously invisible oak tree sitting right in front of the oncoming car. Thoughts of stopping were completely discarded as Dean and Samuel threw their hands up in front of their faces mere seconds before the Impala crashed into the solid tree.

In a sickening second, Samuel's seatbelt snapped due to the force of the impact and was sent flying through the windshield, glass shattering, and went skidding a ways before halting limply on the Impala's blacktop.

Dean felt the spray of the glass as it pelted his body and his face jerked forward, smashing into the steering wheel with an impressive force.

Silence hovered ominously over the crash-site, leaving a broken man half sprawled on the blacktop and half wedged between the car and oak, and a dazed and confused driver frozen from shock as his own head wound bled.

Dean leaned heavily against the recently hit wheel and tried to understand why his head hurt so much, when the shrill yet familiar ringtone played mockingly beside him. God it was annoying. What the hell was he thinking when he made Iron Butterfly's 'In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida' as one of his ring-tones? He realized now what a horrible idea it was now. It made his head hurt. It also made him dizzy.

Still unable to think clearly, Dean reached his hand down and picked up his, strangely enough, unscathed cell-phone.

"H-Hell-lo. . ." His tongue felt thick and heavy as his eyes fought to stay open.

"Um, hello, is this Dean Winchester?" A concerned male voice asked slowly.

"Yeah. . . Whaddya want?" Dean's words were beginning to slur together. He knew that it was a bad thing, but he had no clue how to stop it.

"Sir, are you drunk?"

"N-No." Who was this man asking stupid questions? "Jus tired."

"Oh, well I need you to wake up for me sir. Can you do that?"

'Why the heck is he calling me sir?' Dean thought foggily then nodded. He then realized that he was on the phone and the man on the other end couldn't see him nodding. "Yeah, I'm awake. Whaddya want?" He repeated though somehow managed to sound a bit more lucid. Something about this call had his already numbing nerves standing on end.

"Sir, this is Dr. Phillips of the St. Mary's hospital. We have your brother Sam and we need you to come down right away."

-SUPERNATURAL-

Ending Author notes: Holy water! That chapter was so flippin' hard to write! I've had this chapter planned out pretty close to the beginning of this story and for some reason I just couldn't get it out on paper. I'm still not completely satisfied but maybe I'm just being overly critical. I have been accused of being a perfectionist. . . But enough of me, what about you? It is, after all, only your opinion that counts.

Extra note: Also, in case you were not sure: That crash was so totally real.

Extra, extra note: Alright, I think I have officially decided that I'm going to write a sequel, or prequel, depending on how you look at it, about our doppelgängers' lives before they ended up here. Please tell me if you'd be interested in reading that at all or if you think it would be a waste of computer space. I'd really rather not write anything nobody would read or enjoy. Thanks peeps. :-)

P.S. This story has basically already been written, but my sister (we'll call her Becca) and I read through it again and she noticed a few things that could make this story a whole lot better. (This story isn't near over quite yet) I think I need to give you fair warning that the next couple chapters might take a little longer to be posted due to major reconctruction. Of course, this may go really well and you won't have to wait. But just in case. . . Thank you guys so much.

Your review addicted writer friend - Kerri


	15. Chapter 14

**Note: **First of all, thank you to every single one of you who reviewed! I was dancing in the clouds after I read all of the things you guys said. Huggles everyone You people are amazing and so kind. I was worried you might hate where I seemed to be heading with this. . . Second, I'm so, so, so sorry it took me two weeks to post this next chapter. I just had my birthday and vacationed a little - though Supernatural and this fic were firmly planted in my mind the whole time - and I had no internet. Lame excuse, but hopefully you'll forgive me since I'm giving a peace offering of this chap. Thirdly, a special thanks to psiChic for the positive feedback on the idea for a doppelganger back story. I have begun to write it, and whenever this insane story ends I'll be able to give you all a sneak preview. Not wanting you guys to have to wait any longer, this chapter was un-beta'd, so don't be surprised if you end up with a few more typos, though I ran through spelling check. . . fingers crossed Thanks again for being so patient, I really hope to hear your feedback on this chapter, as it takes us to another large bend and twist in this tale. - Kerri

**Chapter Fourteen: Rescue Me**

Wednesday Evening at 7:54pm

"Sir, this is Dr. Phillips of the St. Mary's hospital. We have your brother Sam here and we need you to come down right away."

The words coming from the other end of the phone struck Dean as funny. Words that would normally send a person into a worried panic, instead had the opposite effect. He laughed. Then he stopped because his head hurt too much when he did.

"Whadd. . . ya talking about?" He slightly slurred. "Sam's right here. . ." Dean trailed off as he remembered what just happened. The flash of lightning, a stupid oak tree, and then he just saw glass. It dawned on him what the sticky red liquid all over him and the interior was. Blood.

But was it his own, or Sam's? Or both.

"Sir?" The worried male voice on the other end encouraged. "Sam's right here, and we need you to please come."

Dean sat there, numb. "G- Gimme a sec.

There was a pause and then. "Dean, are you drunk?" Phillips knew that using the man's actual name would help get through to him and he knew that he had already asked that question, but he needed to be sure. If he was drunk, there would definitely be a be problem.

"I'm not drunk!" Dean yelled exasperated through the phone and then groaned at the pain slicing through his skull at the same time a flash of lightning streaked through the sky, lighting up a mound sprawled on the black top of the Impala. Sam. "I need to find Sam." The elder pushed open the driver's door and slid out, though his legs refused to hold him and he fell to the ground with a pained grunt.

Rain was still falling like the day Noah walked into his ark, and Dean barely could keep his eyes open through the downpour as he crawled to the front of his car.

"Dean, please listen to me. Sam's here."

"There was an oak tree." Dean mumbled absently while using the side mirror as leverage for standing back up. With one final grunt, he was back up and face to face with his brother. Sam was laying broken on the hood, bleeding from a wound he had yet to identify. He checked the pulse and was happy to feel that it was still beating, albeit slowly- but still beating.

"An oak tree? Were you in an accident?"

Dean jumped as the voice cut through the deafening rain, but ignored it. Right now he had to find a way to help his brother. Because, despite what the 'doctor' was saying to him, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the man laying in front of him was Sammy.

Or maybe not. . .

Dean leaned forward and despite the darkness, frowned when he saw a strange blue glow around Sam's right wrist slowly fade before disappearing. It took only a minute for the rain to wash away the rest of what looked like makeup, leaving a tattoo depicting a wreath of flames behind.

The same tattoo that the doppelgänger had. It took only a second for realization to dawn upon the injured hunter. "Oh God. . ." He breathed out as he backed away from the now offending person laying on his car, tripping over the oak's roots and falling into the slick mud on the ground.

"Dean, Sam is not there with you. He's here." He could hear the doctor's voice coming from the phone held at his side. "Do you understand me? Sam is here."

And it was then that Dean realized his mistake. His unforgivable, terrible, awful mistake.

Sam wasn't here. Sam hadn't been here for days. All this time he had been with this. . . thing. He had been doing nothing while his brother was in the hospital? How could this have happened? How could he have been so blind?

"I- I think you should come and get me." Dean sounded broken, and Phillips also noticed, lost.

"Okay, we'll send someone out. Can you tell me where you are?"

"Outside." It made sense to Dean. "Main highway on the, um, on the west outskirts of town." That was about as specific as he could get. He felt something slimy sliding down his forehead and raised his hand to wipe it away. His hand came back covered in mud and blood. "You better hurry."

Phillips sounded concerned. "What, why?"

Pure exhaustion strained in Dean's voice. "'Cause 'm gonna pass out. . ."

And he did.

-SUPERNATURAL-

8:01pm

"Shit!"

All hospital activity froze at the shout coming from the doctor on the phone. Chrissy, one of the new nurses rushed over to him and placed her hand on his arm. "Is everything okay, Doctor Phillips?"

"I got hold of that Winchester, but he doesn't sound like he's in any different shape than his brother here."

"Do you need me to go pick him up?" Chrissy asked anxiously.

"No, I think we should send an ambulance."

"Ambulance? He's in that much trouble."

"I'm pretty sure he was in an accident."

Chrissy furrowed her brow. "You're not completely sure?" She didn't want to sound condescending - especially to her superior - but if she was going to help, she needed to know all of the facts.

"Good catch Chrissy." Phillips verbally applauded and smiled, but only for a second before resuming his previous stance and tone. "He was slurring over the phone and claimed that Sam was with him. He also mentioned an oak tree, he was on the highway, and he just passed out."

"Do you think he was drunk."

"He said he wasn't, so either he was lying, or he took intense trauma to the head."

They were now walking with purpose down the hallway towards their newest patient's room. Granted, they didn't get a whole lot of people here to take care of so putting him in the closest room possible would have made more sense, but if they did that then there would be no dramatic walk down the hall. Anything to make this place a little more exciting.

Chrissy loved her job, but sometimes she envied the fact that the only male nurse here had quit and moved on. She was sure that Sean was going to be disappointed that he missed all of this though.

Their previous coma/ amnesiac patient who had left just the day before was back, except this time he had a wallet with an ID and before falling unconscious told them that his emergency number was for his brother.

She was a little confused at first, because when he left the first time, he said his name was Dean. Turns out that his name was Sam and his brother's name was Dean.

She was suddenly curious as to how he ended up taking on his brother's persona instead of his own. . . And wasn't there some guy in those 'Most Wanted' programs named Dean Win-somebody?

"Chrissy, are you paying attention?"

"Hm, oh yes! Sorry." She answered sheepishly.

"Has Sam woken up yet, or are we going to have to do this on our own?" Phillips asked while rounding the last corner.

"I had just come back from checking on him when you finished your call to Dean. He was still in bed, unconscious."

"Okay, we'll send Pete and the team out to the westside outskirts to locate Dean, and until then, we'll need to keep doing what we can for his brother and cross our fingers that we're not going to be too late to do anything."

Chrissy could tell that the doctor was upset. "Are you okay Sir?"

What could Phillips say? He felt guilty because he let a patient go too early and now he was back and even worse off than before? Some things were just better kept to yourself.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He smiled but like last time, it didn't last long. They had too much work to do for that. "But you need to get to Pete now. Dean could be in deep trouble."

"Right." Chrissy nodded with understanding and took off running back down the hall.

Phillips blew a puff of air out while watching his nurse scurry down the hall and sighed. So much to do, and if the extent of Sam's injuries and massive bleeding were any indication, there was so little time. If Dean Winchester turned out to be drunk, Phillip would be sure to have some words for him.

With one final deep breath, he turned on his heel and headed back to Sam's room.

-SUPERNATURAL-

8:46pm

The whirring of the siren was beginning to get on Pete's nerves, as well as the nerves on everybody else who was in the ambulance. They had been driving for about thirty-five minutes with the damn thing running and it was all they could do to keep from ripping their own ears off.

But protocol was protocol and Pete - the driver - was not a rebel by nature. His 'co pilot' Ross, however, was.

"For our sanity's sake dude!" Ross yelled out over the screech. "Turn the damn thing off!"

Before he allowed Pete to answer, he flipped the switch to 'off'. Loud thank you's were echoed around the medical vehicle, and Pete grit his teeth together. He was just as relieved to hear his own thoughts, but he couldn't go with this willingly.

"Ross, we can't just turn it off. What if we pass, what's his name?"

"Dean." A newbie on the team spoke up before resuming his place as the nervous underling.

"Right, Dean-"

"Pete, relax dude. We won't pass him. That's what the flashy lights are for." The one female on the team grinned and patted her hand on the driver's shoulder. "We'll turn it back on when we get near civilization again, okay?"

Well how could Pete argue with that? He couldn't. His ears would have literally killed him if he had.

"Well, alright Andrea, but if we get caught, this is all on your guys' ass, not mine."

"You really gotta learn to loosen up man." Ross rolled his eyes. "But whatever you say. It's all on me."

"By saying you, I am not saying you can blame it on the rookie you know."

Said rookie looked up and nervously played with his fingers as he realized they were talking about him.

"God, take away all my fun, why don't ya." Ross bemoaned.

"Well, that's what I'm here for. I'm supposed to keep you from doing something stupid."

"No, you're here to hit the brakes! Dude is that the guy, cause that is one sweet ride."

Pete could see that every ride along was drooling over the car they nearly passed and slowly pressed down on the brakes. There was no time for an ambulance to get caught in an accident. Not in this weather anyway.

"Well, it better be that Dean guy, cause we don't have enough gas to push on farther." One of the paramedics - Steve - in the back pointed out. "New guy here forgot to add the extra cases."

New guy bit his lip, and to everyone's enjoyment, looked like he was about to cry.

As soon as the ambulance came to a full stop, the team immediately went into working mode. The back doors were flung open and two paramedics jumped out to scour the area for the man that Chrissy said passed out. They all hoped that he fell on his side, because if he fell forward or backward, he might have spent the last thirty minutes suffocating himself. That would be bad.

The last thing their team or hospital needed was a double death in a single night, added to that tragedy by the fact that they were in the same family. Brothers, Pete was sure the blond nurse had told him.

"Found him!" Steve yelled out. His partner, Andrea, ran over to him and looked the man lying on the blacktop over for injuries they would need to be careful of while trying to keep the pounding rain from blinding her. The storm was being far from helpful in getting the victim to help as soon as possible.

"Hm," She observed quietly. "Chrissy said Dean was that Sam guy's brother, but she didn't say that they were twins."

"A twin with a sweet tattoo." Steve added before clearing his throat. "Which of course has no importance whatsoever."

Andrea rolled her eyes though still enjoying the fact that Steve could always be counted on to say something to lighten the mood, or keep them from going insane from worry. In their job, they couldn't afford to be too uptight.

"Looks like he took a cannonball through the windshield." She whistled.

Steve nodded and slowly checked over the body. "He got cut up but good, and he has a treasure trove of cuts on his arms. . . And on a first glance at that ripped up t-shirt of his, I'd say his torso hasn't faired much better."

"Yeah, we better get him in the ambulance right away." Andrea lifted the hair from the man's forehead and sucked in a deep breath at the dark purple bruise swelling near his hairline. "God, I hate oak trees. Damn things just don't give an inch."

"He's lucky his skull didn't crack wide open." Steve remarked while readying himself to remove the man from the blacktop and get him into the medical vehicle.

"Uh, I think you missed somebody." A small voice called out. It was the rookie, and he was squatting on the ground on the other side of the tree, over what look like another body.

"Oh, shit!" Steve exclaimed, and Andrea repeated his sentiment. "They didn't say that there were two."

Thankfully, the man on the ground was laying on his side, and Andrea ran around the black Impala to get a better look at the unexpected turn of events. Unlike the man on the blacktop, the guy in the mud had a bleeding head wound, also near his hairline, and a bluish bruise on the side of his jaw.

Seeing the state of the windshield, cuts were inevitable, but a couple larger shards were still imbedded in his skin and Andrea swore. "It's pretty bad, Steve. We can make room for two, right?"

Steve frowned as the rain still hit him head on, making him look like a drenched puppy you might see hiding under your porch in a storm. "It'll be tight and we could only have one of us back with them, but it could work."

Andrea nodded and then turned toward the newbie. "Okay rookie. You take head, I have legs and on three we'll lift him on the stretcher."

New guy nodded and determinedly took hold of the man's shoulder's placing the head in the crook of his arm.

"One, two, three." In one swift motion, the man was swept off the ground and secured on the stretcher as Andrea turned just in time to see that Steve was doing the same.

Without another word, the injured men were rushed into the ambulance and Steve jumped in behind them. Andrea ran to the front with the rookie and signaled to Pete to get going.

Pete nodded and pushed down on the gas pedal, the medical vehicle making a u-turn to head back to the hospital as quickly as possible, while Steve worked frantically in the back to keep the car accident victims alive long enough to make their efforts worthwhile.

-SUPERNATURAL-

9:25pm

Doctor Phillips paced nervously inside the emergency entrance, waiting for his medical team to return with Sam Winchester's brother. They had been gone for a little over an hour now and he was getting abnormally apprehensive about this.

He blamed it on the weather. Rain always made him depressed and the fact that he couldn't even see outside because of the dark clouds and thickening fog did nothing to relieve his stomach from the knots tying themselves.

Phillips wondered if maybe he should go back to his previous patient, but knew he needed to place at least some trust in his nurse to do her job. It was time she started to work on her own, but damn if he wasn't anxious about all this!

Just as soon as he realized that his nails were down to invisible stubs, the wailing sound of their ambulance's siren could be heard. It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. It meant he could quit pacing and actually do something to help.

"Oh, thank goodness." Phillips offered up a silent prayer of thanks and a request for help in aiding these brothers, though he hoped it wasn't too late to do something.

The first thing he saw bursting through the door was a sopping wet Steve wheeling in a single stretcher with a man who looked amazingly identical to the first Winchester, and then to his surprise, was followed by an equally soaked through Andrea who was pushing in another loaded gurney. A tall looking dirty blond was laying unconscious on that one.

"Shit." Phillips paled and said breathlessly. "Their's two?"

None of the medical team answered but went to work on getting the two men down and on their way to get medical attention. Pushing away any more unnecessary questions and comments, he quickly trailed behind his paramedics down the hall.

He remembered that nervous feeling he had just a moment ago and realized he hadn't been worried enough. Not nearly enough. . .

-SUPERNATURAL-

Day 5: Thursday 8:15am

After watching his newest patients getting cut open and sewn up by the most skillful surgeons in the hospital for the last eleven or so hours, Doctor Phillips figured it was time for a cup of coffee. He also had yet to fill out the necessary paperwork for these Winchester men plus one. Who was this mystery guy?

Phillips walked over to the lobby desk and gave a tired smile to the nurse on duty. "Morning Julie. I hear you have some papers for me?"

Julie looked up and met his half smile with a sympathetic one of her own. "Morning, Sir. Long night?" She asked as she handed him a small clipboard.

He nodded. "Triple surgery. Two brother's and a man we have yet to identify." Phillips glanced at the door. "Luke was going to check out the crash site to see if his ID dropped or something."

"Brothers huh?" Julie quickly typed a few keys on her keyboard before looking back up at the doctor in interest. "Can I get their names? We need to place them in the log."

"Winchester, Sam and Dean."

A few more clicks and Julie hit the 'enter' button. "Alright, their in the system. Anything else sir?"

"I was going to head down to the cafeteria for some java if you want to join me. I can fill you in on the patients."

The nurse waved over one of her underlings to take over the desk duty and nodded. "Sure thing. I could use a little coffee."

As the two of them turned to leave, Phillips looked at his clipboard and began to fill in the blanks. "The two brothers turned out to be twins."

"Have they woken up yet?" Julie asked.

"Not yet." The older doctor sighed. "Their injuries were pretty severe, but the surgery went exceptionally well, so honestly they could wake up at any given time. Though. . ." He paused for a brief second before continuing. "Dean, had some strange injuries that we were rather worried about."

"What kind of strange injuries?" Julie took a seat at one of the hospitals cafeteria tables, holding a large coffee in one hand and a chocolate chip muffin in the other.

Phillips joined her with a vanilla latte and blueberry muffin of his own. Taking a small sip from his styrofoam cup he leaned forward slightly and motioned for the nurse to do the same. "I mean strange. Gigantic claw marks were scratched from the top of his left shoulder to middle of his right hip. My first thought was mountain lion, but there weren't enough slashes for that. Then I thought it might have been a bear, but honestly. . . I don't know what would make an injury like that."

"That's weird." Julie commented while taking a bite out of her muffin. "Anything else?"

"Looking at their injuries, it's like these guys intentionally go out to find danger or are part of a gang or something." The doctor rubbed his forehead. "Their covered with old scars and bruises. The x-ray showed that they've broken their ribs more than once and in Sam's case a recently healed broken wrist. It's like they've been stuck in a blender and then left to heal up."

"And our mystery man. . .?"

"He's got the same kind of wounds as the others, though only Dean had the claw slashes. Our mystery man seems to have gotten himself a trophy case of old injuries."

"You think they'll all be okay?" Julie finished off the last of her coffee and prepared herself to get back to her duty at the desk.

"Despite how bad they look, I'm pretty sure they'll pull through." Phillips answered. "I'm going to have a lot of questions pertaining to how they got so banged up though."

"Do you think we should notify the police?"

"Not yet. I think we ought to wait until they've woken up at least."

Julie nodded and began to walk out of the now crowded cafeteria. "Alright, now you said their names were Sam and Dean Winchester?"

"Yeah, and thanks a lot Julie."

"No problem sir." Julie smiled and headed back to her desk, her thoughts drifting back to the injuries found on the young men. She would have to tell Tara about this. Her friend from highschool and beyond was always talking about this sort of strange shit; maybe she would know something. . .

As they walked down the hall, neither nurse nor doctor noticed the young man punching in numbers on his cell-phone - which was strictly prohibited in this hospital. They also did not notice as they were talking when he perked up at the name 'Dean Winchester'.

The man waited through three rings before his call was picked up by an official sounding male voice. "Daniel Masters' office of the-"

The young man cut off the intro, unable to contain his excitement at what he was about to tell this Masters person. "Hello? This is Tom Gates and I know where Dean Winchester is. And his brother too."

-SUPERNATURAL-

8:22 am

FBI agent Daniel Masters answered the ringing phone, hoping it wasn't his boss about to yell at him about his latest job botch up, but before he could even finish saying his office department he was interrupted by an excited voice on the other end.

"Hello? My name is Tom Gates, and I know where Dean Winchester is. And his brother too."

Instantly Daniel perked up and began writing down the information this Gates person was giving him.

"Thank you for the tip." Daniel said as soon as he had everything he would need and possibly more. You could never have too much information in a situation like this. Before Tom had a chance to answer, he hung up and went flying down the building's hallways. His partner was going to flip when he heard this.

He stopped at the door leading to his partner's office and quickly knocked on the heavy wood .

"Come in." An annoyed voice called out.

Daniel opened the door and waited for his friend to turn around in his chair. When he didn't he plunged into his findings. "Man, you are not going to believe what the latest call tip was about.

"Did somebody just spot another Elvis walking around, because if that's it I'm not even slightly amused or interested."

Daniel could only grin at his black partner sitting slouched in his chair, staring blankly at all the paperwork he had yet to fill out. Their boss was being hard on them after that whole bank fiasco. It wasn't their fault that everything went to hell. But Daniel was sure that this would cheer his friend up. "Come on Vic, at least listen to what I'm saying."

The man sighed and turned to face Daniel, defeated, knowing his partner wasn't going to leave until he got his all important news out. "Okay, what is it?"

"We just got a tip on the location of Dean and Sam Winchester."

Shock literally set in and Victor ran forward to meet his friend. "Stop playing games Dan, you know I hate it when you toy with me."

"I'm not joking. I just answered a tip from some hick in podunk town USA, saying he knew where Dean Winchester and his brother were. You want me to send the team?"

Victor stopped in his revelry to think this over. He really wanted to go himself, but his boss had him in paperwork duty for the next few days and would kill him if he left, even for someone on the high end of the wanted list like Dean and Sam. By then it might be too late. "Yeah, you take the team and bring them in. I'll be waiting for them here."

Daniel nodded and left Victor to finish his paperwork. "Will do." And he was gone.

Victor smiled to himself as he turned back to his desk, picking up a golden pen to continue signing his official papers. "Time to stop running Dean." He remarked as he began to sign.

H-E-N-D-R-I-C-K-S-O-N

-SUPERNATURAL-

A/N1: evil cackle Now everybody thinks Samuel is Dean, and nobody knows who Dean is! I know there was no Evil!Dean this chapter, but he will show up again. Sam hasn't knocked him out of the game just yet.

A/N2: And now we have Hendrickson too! Please tell me you were surprised, cause I didn't even have this planned till Becca (my sis) suggested it. Amazingly, this little twist fit perfectly into my idea and will hopefully make this story a little more exciting and still fit inside the 'Supernatural' universe.

A/N3: I'm pretty sure I got my time-lines straight concerning Sam's cast (broken wrist) and Hendrickson's involvement, but if I screwed something up, feel free to correct me. :-) Also, if there have been any other time/place goofs, let me know. Sometimes it's just so confusing to keep my times straight! knocks head against brick wall And in other news, I have reached page 100 in this story! jumps up and down My excitement might seem lame, but this is the first and longest thing I have ever written and I am extremely proud. Thank you all so much for reading; I look forward to seeing what you have to say.

Your harebrained writer friend - Kerri


	16. Chapter 15

**Beginnng Note: **A gigantic thank you all to everybody who reviewed last chapter. Your uplifting and thought worthy comments gave me just the right amount energy to write this chapter in less than a week. You guys are the best! Also, you may have noticed that this chapter is entitled 'Revelations'. Buckle up your seatbelts and hold on to your figurative hats, ladies and gentlemen, you are about to get answers!

**Chapter Fifteen: Revelations**

Thursday 8:30am

Dean was awake.

He knew he was awake because he was in pain. God-awful, ready to slit your wrists to end the agony kind of pain.

So, not the good kind.

And the constant beeping coming from the machine sitting next to him wasn't exactly an incentive to stay alive with its sharp blips sounding every two seconds. But there was a reason Dean never contemplated ending his life right then and there: Sammy.

Sam was here. Sam was in the hospital. Sam needed Dean. Needed him.

But something was wrong.

The last thing he remembered was the car crash- no. The last he remembered was discovering that the man he thought was his brother, wasn't. It was the double. The doppelgänger as it seemed to have named itself. "Bastard." Dean choked out, unaware of the breather mask strapped down to his mouth.

How could he have been such an idiot? The truth was sitting right in front of his face and he still didn't see it. Didn't want to see it. Because. . . because he liked this new Sam. He enjoyed spending time with the comfortable, confident, edgier Sam. Because that Sam could take care of himself- and maybe even him too. Dean enjoyed that feeling and now hated himself because of it. Because if he didn't have to protect his brother, then maybe he could take care of himself. . .

He had been so selfish that he was blinded to the fact that he wasn't even with his brother. He had been spending his days with a stranger and didn't think twice about it.

He should have known. Even after the double convinced him he was Sam after the choking incident he should have realized that something was different. And not because his brother changed, but because he wasn't his brother.

That would at least sort of explain what happened back at Tara's home, but still, somehow, to Dean it didn't make sense. Why would the doppelgänger pretend to be his brother? What was he gaining from it all?

Dean was struck with the wish that he had done more research before now. If he had, he might have known a bit more about these doppelgängers. Sure, he had dealt with things similar to them before, but each creature is different, and neither him, Sam, or his father had gone up against an honest to goodness doppelgänger before.

He knew what they basically were, but where they came from or what their purposes could possibly be was all a giant question mark.

He needed to talk to Sam. Maybe he would know. Of course there was that little problem of both of them being in a hospital, in separate rooms, and Dean not even knowing how his brother was doing. He could be in a coma for all he knew.

"Oh God." He groaned. When did things get so screwed up?

But that wasn't what made him sick to his stomach. What made him feel ill was the fact that he couldn't even tell you where his Sam ended and this Not-Sam began. . .

-SUPERNATURAL-

9:00am

Daniel let his eyes wander out the window as the FBI squad cars pulled up into the hospital's parking lot. The place seemed to be in pretty good condition, and the lot was nearly empty, which made sense when you looked at the population this town had.

"Masters, you ready?"

Dan jerked at the question and then relaxed when he saw that it was just his teammate, Jim. "Yeah, I'm good. Ready the team and let's get a move on. You know how antsy Vic gets when he has to wait long for an arrest, and he's been after these guys for a while."

"Yeah, he can be a cranky bastard." Jim nodded.

"But he's caught everybody he's set his sights on and is dead on the money when he guesses what kind of people they are and their motives. Gotta give him credit for that."

Dan quirked an eyebrow as his friend bit his lip as in indecision. "You're right, but I don't know about this one." Jim admitted. "I don't think these boys are exactly what we think they are."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm just saying that I think there's more to them than meets the eye."

Dan nodded. "That's what makes them so damn dangerous. They're unpredictable, wild. There seems to be no pattern. It's like they just pick up a map, close their eyes and point to the next victim state at random."

"That wasn't what I was talking about." Jim argued. "I'm talking about them. I don't think we have them all figured out."

"We have them completely figured out." Dan insisted. "They are just like every other kind of serial criminal out there. Tragic childhood- in this case a mother's death. They were raised alone by an ex-marine, which must have been an adventure, while moving all across the country for no seeable reason other than they hated to stay in one place too long."

"But-"

"Jim, I'm not ready to argue with you on this shit. Are you on the team or not?"

"Yeah," Jim nodded reluctantly. "I'm coming."

-SUPERNATURAL-

9:02am

The darkness in the warehouse was unforgiving, offering no promise of light or a reprieve from the stifling blanket of black inside.

But how did he get here? What happened?

Sam. . .

"Bastard." Dean growled out as he picked himself off the concrete floor, ignoring the throbbing drums beating continuously in his head. His jaw was swelled up and he knew that, that was where Sam had hit him. "He knocked me out." Dean growled in disbelief. "I had him cornered, injured and he still got me?"

He realized that the candle burned out and that no matter how many times he blinked, the light wasn't going to magically come on. No, he would have to walk out of here. And he could. He could walk out of this place whenever he pleased. . . And the only reason he could do that is because he was alive.

"Why didn't the murderer kill me?" Dean pondered out loud, unable to understand why he was able to talk at all.

While searching for answers, he stumbled upon only two explanations, the both of them making some sort of sense to him.

One: Sam was terribly injured and passed out trying to get out instead of sticking around to see who woke up first.

Two: He never had Samuel to begin with.

"Oh, my God." Dean breathed in almost awe.

It's not like he came here with his eyes closed. The witch had explained everything to him about the different time-parallels and shit. It's why he had avoided Kansas as the one and only place he refused to go. As a witch, she knew some things about the different plains, and that meant she knew where she was in every single one of them.

"_Be sure to not try and find me Dean. I'm warning you. Stay away from me, because you have no idea who I will be, or what I will know, or what I could do."_

Dean took that warning to heart. If there was one thing he could say about the witch, it would be she never exaggerated. Ever. And even though she mostly came across as a creepy, estranged woman that dabbled deeply in the black mystical arts, Missouri Mosely made sure everyone knew what they were diving into.

But, could it be possible? Even when he was so careful and sure. . .

And in that moment he understood his mistake.

He had captured the wrong Sam.

"Well, it's never too late to fix a mistake like that." Dean walked with his arms outstretched until felt the knob in his palm, and with a sharp twist pushed the part metal, part wood door open, taking in his first breath of air.

He felt no remorse for what he did. He didn't know the Sam here, nor he didn't care to. For all he knew he was just like Samuel. And if that was the case, Dean might just have to go back and kill him too.

With that final though to drive him forward, Dean walked down the hall and out of warehouse, tucking his dagger back into it's sheath at his ankle and headed towards the one place he knew at least one of them would be.

St. Mary's Hospital.

It was time to end this.

-SUPERNATURAL-

9:05am

Sam stepped carefully out of the shower, tying the thankfully clean towel around his abdomen and headed to the sink, wiping his hand across the mirror so as to see his reflection. He grimaced when he saw the dark circles ringing under his eyes and a small greenish bruise laying just out of reach from his thickly growing bangs.

He couldn't remember exactly how he got that bruise, but he knew that it happened sometime in between walking into the lake and being pulled to shore by Dean. But that was days ago. It should have been nearly gone by now. . .

He glared at his reflection as if the image had betrayed him somehow.

"Frickin' visions." Sam mumbled absently, unable to contain his frustration. Bad things always happened. Worse: bad things always happened to him. Even worse: Bad things always happened to him but Dean managed to still jump in the way and take at least half the fall or pain himself. Was it too much to ask that he try walking on his own two feet without older brother there to protect him?

"Why can't I go a goddamn friggin' minute without Dean jumping in to save my ass?" Sam growled at the reflection staring back at him.

Dean always told him that talking to yourself (especially in the mirror) was a sure sign that you were going insane, but he didn't care. His whole life was an impossibly crazy mess; what was one more thing to add to the list?

It was then that Sam noticed something about his reflection he hadn't before. It was smiling at him. Granted, that didn't sound all that strange, but perhaps if you could see that Sam himself wasn't smiling or grinning in any way you might think that it was a bit odd.

Well, it wasn't really a smile. It was more like a knowing smirk, meant to infuriate him. Sam's eyes widened and then blinked in rapid succession, trying to clear the image away. Nothing changed even after the multitude of eye blinking.

But there it was, staring at him with understanding eyes. Taunting him with the idea that it knew something he didn't, and had no intention of sharing anytime soon. And suddenly Sam was swept away with the feeling of remembrance. Something about this whole situation seemed familiar. Eerily so. Like he had already done this before. Maybe he had.

The shower, the bruise, the thoughts, reflection. . . everything. It was like he had dreamed this already.

"You're in danger."

Okay, now Sam was officially freaked out. His mirror image just spoke to him, and now his head hurt. This was so damn familiar. Where had he seen this all before?

"Bad things are happening Sam."

Wait a minute. He didn't remember that. At least he didn't think he did. . .

"Why didn't you listen to me? I warned you and you still didn't listen."

Sam felt weak in the knees and leaned forward to balance himself on the sink while continuing to keep eye contact with the reflection. "Why are you here? What's going on?"

"Sam, you're still not listening."

The hunter found himself getting angry. Screw this. Screw all of this. He had been spending his last few days in his own personal hell, and listening to riddles asked by his own freaky face in the mirror was just one thing too many. "What the hell do you want from me?!" He shouted at the mirror, barely keeping himself from smashing his fist into the glass. "Ever since you showed up, crap started happening, and I still don't know what the hell is going on. I think it's about time you start giving answers."

The image stared at him silently for a minute and just when Sam thought it was gone and he was once again alone, it spoke softly. "I came to warn you."

"Warn me of what?" Sam asked breathlessly.

"You." It answered. "You and Dean."

"What are you talking about?"

"Sam, you're a smart man. You know the history. What do the legends say about people who see a different reflection of themselves in the mirror or water, or see themselves from the corner of their eye when there was no rational explanation for it?"

Sam searched his mind for the answers he was looking for. All his past studying must have put something in his head that would be related to this. . . And then it struck him. For what he could recall of the past few days and what he doing right now, only one thing made sense.

"Doppelgängers." He whispered.

His reflection nodded encouragingly, as if to tell him to dig a little deeper to solve the whole puzzle.

"You're my doppelgänger."

His face in the mirror shook his head in a disappointed fashion. "Sam, I thought you of all people would understand the truths behind the doppelgänger legends. Think about people in the past who claimed to have seen their doubles. Abraham Lincoln for one." Mirror Sam seemed to be lost in a memory only he remembered. "Just a week or two before he died, he said he saw his doppelgänger in the mirror."

Sam could only stare, though his legs had finally given up any kind of support, leaving his arms the only thing keeping him upright at the sink. "Did he?"

"No."

Sam furrowed his brows in confusion. "Then what does this have to do with. . .?" He nodded at himself and then to the mirror.

"He didn't see his double," The reflection continued. "Because he saw me. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not your double. I was merely sent here to warn you of the danger. I only show myself to certain people once time-parallels have been crossed and their selves are in the same dimension as the original."

Sam stood there dumbstruck. "So you warn people?"

"Yes. And because of me, Abraham Lincoln lived for ten more years."

"Wait a minute." Sam shook his head. "He died just a couple weeks later. Not ten years."

"Actually," The reflection gave a small smile that seemed to convey a feeling of pride. "Abe listened to my warning and didn't go to the play. Instead, he fled and went into hiding while his doppelgänger went to the play and was shot by Booth. Granted, after that whole thing, Lincoln couldn't go back to reclaim his presidentship; people thinking he was dead and all, so nobody knew he lived an extra ten years than the history books claim, but that's the price of knowing about the supernatural. I'm pretty sure he built a small cottage somewhere in the wilderness and kept to himself the rest of his live. He was at such peace. . ."

Sam ignored the reflection's rambling and continued down the path that related to his own problem. "But. . . I'm me. How can there be more? I understand skin-walkers and shape-shifters. Even witches' illusions and spell duplication, but they're just copies. You're telling me that there is more than one me running around here?"

The reflection shifted uncomfortably, as if unsure how much it should reveal to this man. "Well, normally, no. Usually there is just one in each dimension."

"Dimension? Time-parallels? Not to sound like the ignorant disbeliever, but doesn't this all sound like a cheap comic book or bad TV show? That stuff isn't real. . . right?" Sam asked.

"It is the truest thing you will ever know. You want the long explanation or the short one?"

"Let's start with the short."

"Thank God." The reflection sighed. "Abe wanted the long version, and it took me a week to finally get it through to his head. For such a great guy with big dreams, he sure was a pretty narrow-minded person. But anyway. You see, once you are born, a new wormhole is formed, opening all kinds of possibilities for your future. Every choice that is set before you has a thousand different ways to solve it, and for each decision you make, another path has been set. Are you following me so far?"

Sam nodded for the image to continue.

"So let's go back to the night at the cabin. You know, the night when your father was possessed by the Yellow-Eyed Demon."

Before Sam had a chance to protest, he felt a tugging beneath his feet and as he looked down, he noticed that he was no longer standing on bathroom tile, but dusty old wood. He was at the cabin, but next to him, he still leaned on the sink; mirror attached.

"Look." His reflection pointed past him.

Sam slowly turned around and drew in a strangled breath as he stared at the scene playing out before him. Pinned to one of the cabin's walls was Dean pleading with the Sam who was now pointing the colt at John, laying near helplessly on the ground.

"What the hell is this?" Sam asked the mirror nervously. "What are you doing?"

"Showing you the short version."

Sam whipped back around as he heard a sharp crack reverberate around the thick cabin walls, effectively silencing all other sounds. All except for one.

"NO!!" Dean screamed out in the cry of a wounded animal as he slid painfully to the ground, no longer being held there by the demon's power, seeing as how the special bullet and his father's sacrifice sent it back down to where it belonged- forever.

The Sam with the gun stared blankly at the weapon he held in his hand and turned to face Dean, unable to say a word.

"What did you do?! Sam, what the hell did you do?!" Dean barely yelled out, his shock and horror limiting his ability to utter anything louder than a hoarse whisper. But it was all that was needed. All the pain and anguish he was feeling at that moment could be felt miles away, and sent both Sam's (the one with the colt and the one who had only watched) falling to the ground in their own disbelief at what just happened.

"Why are you showing me this?" Sam whispered to the mirror apparently only he could see.

The reflection shook his head sadly and lifted his chin at the scene playing before them. "This is one of your future's; one of your decisions that could have led to an entirely different life. And while you personally didn't make this decision, in another dimension you did. And as real as your life is away from this, what just happened is real to that Sam right there."

"So, which one is real?" Sam asked softly.

"They both are."

"How can that be?"

"Ah, to answer that would require the long version."

"Take me back. I can't stay here." Sam pleaded as he looked one last time at the broken figures crying over the body of their murdered father. And though he wasn't really there when that happened, Sam could tell that the two brothers could never have the same relationship they had before. The bond between them had been severed. Forever.

Again, the floor shifted under his feet and when he looked down, breathed a sigh of relief to see the familiar bathroom floor tile beneath him.

'Beep'

"So, what now?" Sam asked quietly. "You said you're here to warn me, but about what? What do I have to avoid? Is Dean in danger? Is that other doppelgänger coming back? How many are out there? What do I have to do?"

'Beep'

The reflection began to get fuzzy and Sam squinted to get a clear view. "Sam, you know what I am, and you understand what is going on. Believe me when I say that your double isn't here without a reason, and that noble obligations are no longer his priority- if they ever were to begin with."

'Beep'

"But- What do I have to do?"

"Wake up."

"What?"

The reflection and the entire bathroom faded away to darkness, leaving Sam alone say for one last command. "You're dreaming Sam, and it's time you wake up."

'Beep'

'Beep'

Sam's eyes flew wide open and he struggled to sit up in his bed, panicking only when he realized he couldn't. Tubes held him down, and a mask was strapped to his mouth, causing the hunter to only feel more terror.

He thrashed against the things keeping him down, his panic causing the machine sitting next to him to blip and beep at a rapid, erratic pace.

Sam had to get out. Had to get away, yet these wires refused to relinquish their hold on him. Unyielding to his struggles against them. Claustrophobia set in, and the brunet lifted his arm and lowered his face just enough to rip the mask off and send it flying across the room.

"Oh my God!" A nurse shrieked from outside the doorway. But Sam didn't hear her. He had to get out. Had to get away. He needed to find Dean. Needed to save him. He knew the truth and he had to stop it.

Julie scrambled past the lobby and grabbed a couple orderlies for back-up, snatching up a syringe from a nearby drawer on the way into his room. She was a woman on a single mission. And it was to force the patient to relax- by any means necessary.

Taking a quick glance at his chart, monitor readings and heart-rate, she looked at his eyes and was alarmed to see they were unfocused and unevenly dilated. Ordering the male underlings to hold him down, she uncapped the needle and tapped the tip until all the air pockets were gone. It was all going like clockwork. Well, until the patient began to fight back anyway.

"NO! Get away! I have to find my brother!" The man struggled against the orderlies and the nurse realized if she didn't inject the needle quickly, he would probably hurt himself trying to get away.

"Hold him still for just two seconds!" She yelled at the men holding him down and prepared herself for her part. This would have been a lot easier if he hadn't ripped the iv out in his clambering. Now she would have to stick the needle in directly to the source.

Julie waited for her opening and then took it as the man stilled for one - count it - one second. But that was all she needed. She pushed down on the dispenser, letting the fluid release into the patients bloodstream, and then took the syringe back out.

"No! Dean!" The man cried one more time before wavering and in the end, slumping back against his pillow and falling back into his previously peaceful looking sleep. She looked him over one more time and cursed.

"Shit." A crimson liquid slowly began to taint the man's new hospital issue white t-shirt. He ripped his side's stitches. . . again. Julie looked over at the remaining medical intern and nodded over to the nearby cupboard.

"Thread and needle. Now."

-SUPERNATURAL-

9:10am

Mere minutes after stitching together the Winchester patient, Julie headed back to her desk, expecting another slow day full of checking in overzealous parents with children who simply had a cold, maybe some drug addicts faking illness for a fix (the hospital also had a free clinic, so people made sure to take full advantage of that), and to drink her coffee while playing a relaxing game of solitaire on her computer.

What she hadn't expected was her assistant to be arguing with a group of men armed with an arsenal of weapons and covered with vests sporting the giant FBI logo in the lobby.

"I'm sorry, but you can't go in there! The patients are recovering from major surgery and cannot be removed!" The assistant, Kim, insisted, not backing down to the full on glares thrown her way by the authorities.

"Ma'am, I don't think you understand the severity of the situation." The man who seemed to be in charge drawled slowly, as if every polite word had to be dragged form his mouth.

"And I don't think you understand theirs." Kim practically growled out. She was a tall black woman who rarely had patience for people who thought they could order her around because of her job. She was not the kind of person you wanted to get on the wrong side of, though Julie was sure the government didn't have the same fear of her as the rest of the living world did. "And even if I wanted to, I couldn't let you go in without signed papers from my boss and the hospital."

Julie looked over to gage the man's reaction, and noticed it wasn't pretty. She also noticed how quickly the clinic area cleared as the men entered. She figured it was about time she moved in to diffuse the situation. Walking over to her desk, she collided with a janitor who quickly jumped back up, mumbled an apology and ran outside of the hospital at full speed. 'Must be jumpy around guns.' She thought absently before shaking it off and waving to her assistant.

"Thanks Kim for watching the desk for me." She quickly ran over and smiled at Kim then the FBI. "Now, what is the problem here?"

"These men here," Kim waved over. "Are here to take away the Winchester brothers. Apparently, they don't understand the words: just put in recovery a couple hours ago."

Julie turned to man and raised her eyebrow in a questioning fashion.

He nodded his head. "We have a medical team with us, who are fully capable to take care of the boys until they recover."

Ten minutes later and Doctor Phillips had arrived, spoken with the head man, and signed release papers for his two patients. "May I asked who informed you of the boys' presence?"

"Anonymous tip."

Phillips looked over at Julie who shook her head, followed by Kim who did the same.

Julie waved to the armed men. "Right this way."

-SUPERNATURAL-

9:10am

Dean saw the men dressed in FBI garb at the same time the middle aged black nurse did, and decided panic was the best way to handle this.

"Frick!"

He knew he had to get away, but all the medical gadgets seemed intent on keeping him in the bed. Slowly and carefully, he removed his iv, wincing when the needle was pulled from his vein and skin, followed by taking the mask off his face.

Now breathing on his own, Dean found it was much harder to catch a breath, wheezing as he tried to force air into his lungs. Slowly yet surely it became easier to breathe and he set upon his next course of action: getting out of this bed and out of this hospital. Knowing the 'Fed's were here and having no clue where Sammy was meant that if he was leaving, he would be doing it alone. Leaving his brother behind to the mercy of those men.

It was enough to make Dean want to scream in frustration. But he had no choice. It wasn't Sam they really wanted, it was him. And if he was here for them both to be taken, it would only make things worse. At least Sam had a chance. . .

"I'm sorry Sammy." Dean apologized, hoping that maybe, somehow, his brother heard him. "But I'll get you out of this, and I swear if they do anything to you. . ."

Low shouts were coming from out in the lobby and Dean was suddenly thankful for short tempered nurses and window slats with a built in shade remote. With a groan of pain, and several short yet efficient curses, Dean was standing and looking around for a means of escape. The window to the outside was nailed down, so that left only one way. Right past the monkeys with the big guns. . .

He frantically opened the cabinets in search of anything to get him out the door without being noticed. And that's when he saw it. It was perfect.

Reaching into the final cubby hole, Dean pulled out an official blue uniform with word: Janitor, printed on the back. The jumpsuit was worn and the letters fading, but it might just be enough to get him by without drawing attention to himself.

Surprisingly enough, it was only a little loose on him and fit his height perfectly. "How is it, I can't seem to catch a break on the important things, but the little things always seem to work themselves out?" Dean asked to no one in particular before grabbing the hat and pulling it down low over his eyes. Time to try his little disguise out.

He quickly tip-toed out of his room and began to run down the hallway, not wanting to give anyone enough time for anyone to recognize him. What he hadn't put into account was that other people might be running down the halls too.

Without a second to understand what was happening he felt his feet being pulled out from under him and fell, shoulder first to ground. He had run into one of the nurses. Ignoring the pain shooting up his arm, Dean jumped up and mumbled an apology before sprinting out the doors and running for the nearest bushes he could find.

He remained like that for twenty minutes, breathing heavily and nursing his wounds before he heard the hospital's doors slide open and the entire FBI team walked out, two stretchers being loaded into one of their vehicles. Both of the sleeping men looked exactly like Sam, though Dean knew only one of them could be. From his distant hiding place, he couldn't tell which one was the more injured, but they both looked pretty freakin' bad. But that wasn't what made Dean's breath catch in his throat and caused him to bite his lip to keep from crying out.

Two men stood dangerously near his cover and started to confer with each other while a third walked up and inadvertently stepped down in the bushes, crushing Dean's hand with his heel.

The man practically standing on him spoke first. "What do you think Vic is going to say about all this?"

"Hendrickson can go and screw himself for all I care." The second man muttered. "I just want to know who this other guy is. I mean, in all of our background checks, we never discovered a twin in the family."

"This is all a little weird." The first man agreed. "But from what I've seen, everything about these guys and their freak-show family is weird. I mean, their dad was obviously a nutcase, and looking at their records, his sons didn't fall all too far from the tree. Especially Dean."

"So where do you think he is?"

"Don't know, but he's probably long gone from here. Shame though."

"Whatcha mean?"

"Well, from what I hear, last time they were brought in, the Sam kid refused to give his brother up. Even faced some grim futures himself, but he still didn't help us put Dean away. I was just saying what a shame it is that such a loyal kid would be left behind by his brother. But I guess that proves that when all is said and done, any low life criminal will put his own self preservation before family."

"Freaking shame."

Once the stretchers were completely loaded in, the three men edged away from the bushes and hopped into their FBI vehicles.

Dean felt like he had been sucker punched and then left in the middle of a deserted highway. They thought he abandoned Sam? What if Sam thought so too? What if they convince him he doesn't care any more? What if-?

"Oh God, Sammy." Dean whispered sorrowfully as he watched the black cars pull away and disappear down the highway exit. "I'll get you out of this. I swear."

What Dean didn't see was the other man hiding in the bushes across from him, also watching the FBI drive off. A man with an uncanny resemblance to Dean himself and an eyepatch. . .

-SUPERNATURAL-

A/N1: So how was that for revealing? Think you're starting to get some answers finally? Well it's about time! I know I've been leaving you all in the dark for quite some time, so hopefully this chapter was at least a small breath of air. I eagerly await your thoughts and comments on this one, as I am particuarly nervous that what I was trying to convey would get lost in traslation. Your reviews would be mucho appreciated. Thanks in advance. (That was like the shortest author notes I've ever written) lol

Your Nail-Biting Writing Friend - Kerri B!


	17. Chapter 16

**Note:** I am so sorry that it took me so long to post this. I throw myself at your mercy. I was hoping to post this sooner, but somehow my thoughts wouldn't translate on paper. . . Anyway, I send you all giant virtual cookies to thank you all for your patience and reviews. I hope to keep hearing from you guys. :)

**Quick Note: **I forgot to mention at the end of last chapter that Abraham Lincoln did indeed claim to see his doppelgänger sometime before he died, but I took liberties on what followed after. As far as I know, Abe really was shot at the play - not his double - and probably didn't live in a cabin for ten years after that. Of course, who's to say he didn't? sly wink Also I took liberties on the whole 'mirror image gives warnings' thing. But enough of the history lesson, on with the story! - Kerri

**Chapter Sixteen: Two is Better Than One. . . Maybe**

Samuel saw her open her mouth in a soundless scream, preparing herself for the endless pain she knew he was about to inflict. For hours she had been sitting, bloodied in the hard wooden chair he had placed her in, hands tied behind her back and feet roped to the chair legs in tight knots, cutting away her circulation as they dug deep into her soft, sensitive flesh. Her eyes were bloodshot and red, and her voice was raw from crying out during the interminable torture he knew she was enduring.

He could tell this wasn't what she had in mind for the evening when she had woken up that morning, relaxing on her porch with a newspaper and cup of coffee in hand. The sun had been shining bright, filling the air with brimming illusions of a perfect day.

He remembered the way she looked as she watched the sun rise. He hoped she enjoyed it, because he sure as hell was about to enjoy this.

He moved the knife he was holding closer, not even a hairbreadth away from her cheekbone; sliding it casually across her face with the skill and precision he had learned back some years. Hearing her painful shriek echo around the empty warehouse he had dragged her to, only elicited a harsh laugh. The very idea of causing him pain made him feel absolutely giddy.

"If you tell me what I want to know, I promise, it will be quick."

Samuel frowned when she instantly clamped her mouth shut, biting her bottom lip to try and keep from trembling. She thought she would say nothing. She thought she would never betray them. They were her friends and she swore to herself that she would die for them.

But he knew that she didn't need to speak. She just needed to know.

"Come on Danielle." Samuel smiled, watching her expressions change between pain, disgust, fear, and confusion. "I know you're not shy."

He traced the knife down to her torn jeans and grinned when Danielle sucked in her breath as it slowly circled around her knee, lazily prolonging the horror it was about to inflict. "And if you're not shy. . . that must mean that you are being difficult." He slowly drawled, "Dani. . ."

"It's Danielle." she snapped through her clenched teeth.

"Danielle." He agreed in a low voice that he was happy to see sent a cold shiver down her spine. "Do you know how much damage this small piece of metal could do if cuts around your kneecap? A stab here, a slice there. . ." he continued as if savoring the idea. "I bet it would hurt. Or maybe. . ." he looked down to her booted feet. "How necessary are toes anyway?"

Samuel watched as Danielle tried to control herself; her sobs sending small spasms through her body, her blonde hair, now stained by the dripping crimson liquid, falling over her forehead, casting dark shadows across her face. "G- go to hell you freakin' bastard."

He couldn't help it.

He burst out laughing and leaned closer to her face till his rank breath overpowered her senses. "Been there, done that. Now please tell me what I want to know. I don't want to hurt you." he raked his gaze down her perfect figure and raised an eyebrow as he reached out, cupping her face in his large hands. "And red really isn't your color."

He felt as she tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let her go. He wasn't trained that way. He hadn't wanted to kill her; well. . . not at first anyway.

He gave another bone tingling grin. "You sure? Because I don't have to do this. It'll just be fun."

She shook her head and pursed her lips into a tight drawn line for her answer, attempting to ignore the unmistakable evil crouching in front of her and failing miserably.

"Alright then." His voice was so absent of any emotion or feeling that it felt eerily unnatural and Danielle couldn't help a small flinch giving away that thought as his hand took a small piece of her hair and tucked it behind her bloodied ear. "You should wear your hair back. That way I can see your pretty face while you scream."

Samuel let go of her and walked back to his duffel bag, searching for his favored possession. For several minutes he rifled around for it, never noticing that he had begun to hum. He remembered that now. It was the song he wrote several years ago. . .

"Ah, here we go." He turned around to see that Danielle had been pulled from a silent reverie. "Now tell me," he continued as he leaned closely to her restrained leg enjoying the look of pure panic emanating from his victim. "Where are they? Where are the hunters?"

"I- I don't know what you're talking about, you freak."

"Don't lie. That's a sin, and God knows how many you've already committed. You don't want to go to hell do you?" The grin was back and as taunting as ever, though he made sure his face couldn't be seen to the girl in the chair. It wasn't time yet.

"I always did like to keep my options open." Danielle spat.

Samuel raised his head up and brought it threatening close to her own before dipping it down beside her neck in what could have been interpreted as a perverted nuzzle. His mouth was practically touching her ear as he whispered harshly, his hot breath searing across her neck. "I always did like a girl with spirit. Maybe if you tell me about the hunters. . . I wouldn't have to kill you, and we could do something more. . . pleasurable."

Danielle jerked away as best she could, seething at the suggestion. "Over my cold, dead body."

Another grin. "That can be arranged." he lifted his knife back up and began to flip it between his fingers like a cheerleader with a baton, except that the knife was a lot sharper then a baton and he was probably the farthest thing you could get from a cheerleader.

Unless, of course, he was representing hell's minion's football team. (Who, evidently had been practicing for the last century and a half to go to the playoffs against heaven's cherubim. Quite the social event for anything godly or malicious. . .)

Samuel saw Danielle close her eyes tightly, gritting her teeth as she prepared herself for the pain he was about to inflict. But he couldn't do it. Not yet. He found himself staring at her, confusion setting in. Surely he didn't need her; didn't need to do this.

"_Why Samuel? Why?"_

The voices were back.

"_Samuel. We had a deal."_

"_Samuel."_

"_Sam."_

"_Sam!"_

"_Sammy." _

He felt the flaring pain building up under the skin of his right wrist, and he knew.

Danielle's eyes opened and stared at him in confusion. Samuel, bent down to look her in the eye. Asking her his question, one final time. "Are you sure you won't tell me?" He saw a faint look of recognition in her eyes.

"W- who are you?"

"_Samuel. Do my bidding. Do my will."_

"You don't recognize me? Too bad." He knew what he had to do. He was Samuel Winchester, and he had a job to do. Leaning forward he lowered his voice to a deep growl. "'Cause I sure as hell know you."

He plunged the knife into her abdomen and stood back for a moment, to admire his handiwork. Dani screamed in pain, her eyes beginning to glaze over.

He brushed his hand softly against her cheek. "Oh, Danielle. Don't cry. Just because I'm going to find your friends anyway and you will have died for nothing. . . But hey. At least you're doing the honest thing, right?"

Danielle looked up to face hm, and Samuel could tell that she knew who he was now. "Y- you? Why are you d- doing this?"

"Because," He said simply and with slight amusement. "It's my job." And with that statement, Samuel walked over and placed his fingers on her temples, closing his eyes in deep concentration. He hadn't used this power very often, and his training wasn't complete yet, but he didn't have much choice. He had to get the information he was looking for.

He heard Danielle cry out the moment their minds touched. A sharp pain went driving through his own skull, but he had no time to stop or continue more gently. Instead, he plunged forward, searching and probing mercilessly through her mind and memories. It was like an invisible file cabinet and she forgot to mark each file. He opened each one and caught a glimpse of everything she thought and felt about it.

Her childhood. . . her first car. . . her boyfriend. . . her house, friends. . . everything.

Now the pain became an unbearable throbbing, her own mind trying to push his out. And finally, he found what he was looking for.

Both captive and captor screamed in unison as he extracted the last file and pulled himself from her subconscious, and then there was silence. Complete and utter silence, say for the heavy breathing of one living person.

Samuel panted, trying to rub the pain away from his pounding, protesting temples.

Slowly he lifted his now buzzing fingers from the lifeless skull in front of him and said shakily: "Thank you Dani. And don't worry about the knife. You can keep it."

-SUPERNATURAL-

Thursday: 11:32pm

Samuel slowly awoke from his dream/memory, trying to take in his surroundings through the hazy fog blocking his vision.

"Hey, he's waking up." Someone next to him announced.

"Which one?" Another voice asked.

"I'm not sure. They're spitting images of each other."

"Didn't we tag them?"

"Yeah, Sam number 1 and Sam number 2." The first voice said snidely.

Samuel's eyes fluttered open, and noticed that he was laying down; a deep rumbling surrounding him. He was in some kind of vehicle.

"Dani. . ." He said slowly, his own voice thick and his tongue strangely heavy. The last thing he remembered before his dream, was. . .

"Dean."

"Uh, he's talking." The fist man said nervously.

"Well, shut him up. We'll wake him back up when we get to the base."

Samuel had no time to even comprehend what the men were saying before a mask was placed over his mouth and a sickeningly sweet smell infiltrated his nostrils. Sleeping gas.

Sleeping gas! They thought they could stop him with that shit? They thought they could stop him? He was special. Everybody knew that. Who did these people think they were?

Screw this. Screw all of this. Screw his try for an escape. Fuck this new Samuel. To hell with this soft, touchy/feely boy. He was Samuel Winchester, and he had abilities and friends that would have these people pissing their pants.

He laughed.

It started as a low chuckle, but soon evolved to a maniacally hysterical height.

This was what made every FBI agent in the van shiver for several minutes, even after the brunet had fallen back asleep from the gas. . .

-SUPERNATURAL-

11:35pm

If the Impala could speak, (which it very well might. . . who knows?) she would have a thousand stories to tell you. Stories of adventure, stories of pain, stories of love, courage, responsibility, horror, and most of all: family. And in every single one of these stories, there is always a Winchester. A Winchester and herself, that is. In this case, the Winchester was Dean. And the story? Well, it wasn't finished yet. All the newly named 'Metallicar' knew, was that when it was, it would be one hell of a tale to tell.

But that would be later, and both car and driver were in the now. And now they were driving down a near deserted highway, carefully tailing the black, newly issued, FBI vehicles. They had been doing this for more than eight hours and it was way past dark; the Impala's single headlight the only thing lighting the way.

The reason for the single headlight?

Well, the car crash may have had something to do with it. They were lucky even one of the lights worked, let alone the car itself. If the classic beauty of a car wasn't conspicuous enough before, it sure as hell was now; its entire front end was smashed up and slightly distorted in a tangled mass of twisted metal. Every window was either cracked or shattered, and the sides and doors were dented and scratched. But that was just the surface. No point going into detail about the destruction of the interior. It was enough to make any car enthusiast cry.

But the Impala pulled through. While other cars (The Chevy laughed in the face of Ford's and Toyota's) would have just sat there and done nothing to help their human through the tough times, she gave all her energies into starting her engine, in hope that Dean could use her in the inevitable car chase they often were a part of.

The 'Metallicar' might have been just that: a car. But she was still so much more. She was a Winchester's car. Dean's car. A ghost busting, demon hunting, ass kicking machine here to assist these men for as long as she could.

If Dean had focused on more than following the authorities, he might have noticed that every time he began to drift asleep at the wheel, the volume on his radio subtly cranked up enough notches to jolt him back awake before becoming background noise again. It was a pattern that had gone on in these eight hours and the consequences of his brilliant escape were beginning to take effect. He knew he knocked his head against the steering wheel during the accident, so that explained the throbbing, pulsing headache, but that didn't explain all these other aching parts of his body.

Of course, walking from the in-town-small-town St. Mary's hospital to the far outskirts of civilization itself, probably wasn't the smartest of ideas, but with the FBI out and about, trying to hitch a ride with somebody who might recognize him. . . It seemed like the better of two evils. His feet disagreed.

He also couldn't shake the intense feeling of being watched. Or followed. But I guess when you really think about it, in order to be followed, you must be watched, so. . . Whatever! The point was, Dean felt like he wasn't completely alone. And not in the comforting presence kind of not alone. More of the cold, something-bad-is-about-to-happen kind.

Not that he could do anything about it. He had one job. One mission:

Save Sam.

Save his brother.

His real brother.

Oh, and kick the ass of that freaky double imposter dude, and (if the chance presented itself): Hendrickson's.

So, more like two missions. . .

-SUPERNATURAL-

11:46pm: Doppelganger Dean

He rubbed both eye and eyepatch in hopes of clearing his vision.

Dean was pissed. Really pissed.

Well, pissed and slightly amused.

After discovering his mistake concerning the two Sam's, he realized one of them must have been at the nearest hospitals. He was partly right, seeing that as soon as he got there, both of them were being shipped off by the FBI.

He couldn't really figure out why though the Fed's would be involved. It seemed a bit extreme, so the only thing he could conclude was that the Dean and Sam here were in trouble with the law.

It all seemed so very confusing, and yet, seemed to make perfect sense.

After the FBI had driven away and disappeared down the highway, he had watched with a morbid fascination as his double stood from the bushes across from him, dressed in a janitors outfit. He wouldn't have thought that he would be a janitor in any type of reality, but life was full of surprises. . .

He followed himself (or Janitor Dean) carefully for miles, till they reached a terrible looking car wreck. Still remaining unseen, he watched as the other Dean sat in the twisted metal and tried to start it.

He was surprised really. First he finds out that his other self is a janitor, and that he believes his car would start after smashing into an oak tree at what looked like seventy miles per hour.

Being a part-time car repair man, he knew that with a certain amount of time and effort, the originally black beauty could be restored, but to think it would run now was insane.

And yet he was once again surprised as the 1967 Chevy Impala roared to life in what could only be described as a battle cry of one who knows all and reveals none. It was inspiring to say the least.

Stealthily Dean followed the vehicle for hours.

He had his mission.

Kill Samuel.

But before he did this, he must satisfy his unsated curiosity.

He must know who this other Dean Winchester was. . .

-SUPERNATURAL-

Day 6: Friday 1:47am: Real Dean

One-hundred-seventy-six.

That was how many motels Dean had passed as he followed the big black vans.

It was late (or early, depending on how you look at it) and not even his favorite cassette tapes on full blast could keep him awake. He had hoped that the Fed's were going to stop for the night, to allow some rest, but now. . . Dean couldn't do this. He couldn't follow them if they drove all night. And even if he could, the Impala couldn't.

He knew it wasn't a small miracle that started his baby's engine, and that no matter how much he wanted it to, the car just wasn't in any condition to go all night, without at least a short rest and possibly a very expensive tune up.

He had to make a decision.

Follow his brother, or sleep.

Sam.

Sleep.

Sammy.

Rest. . .

It was an impossible decision that was taken out of his hands when a single 'ding' came from the meter in front of him. The Impala made the choice for him.

He was nearly out of gas.

He would have to stop, and the FBI would be long gone by the time he finished filling up.

"I'm sorry Sam. I'll get you out of this. I just need to sleep."

He felt guilty and relieved all at once as he turned off the highway and into a road-side drab looking gas station. For a moment he sat in his car, next to the gas pump, staring at the highway as the vans' back lights slowly drifted away in the distance, signaling the nights defeat.

Nothing new in the life of Dean Winchester.

He remained that way, staring into space, for several minutes, until a late night worker at the station came out and tapped on the Impala's hood. (He couldn't tap on the window seeing as how there was no window to tap)

"Sir," The twenty-some kid asked uncertainly. "Are you okay? Do I need to call for some help?"

"Huh?" Dean turned toward the voice but had trouble focusing on the face. "Uh, no. I. . . I'm alright."

Dean slowly, yet surely stepped out of the Impala, and found himself swaying on his own feet. Yeah, that ought to prove he was alright. . .

"Are you sure?" The kid asked again, not assured whether he should leave this man to himself or insist to help him.

"Yeah," The hunter said tiredly, though without much force and certainty behind his words. "I jus' need a motel. . ."

And that's when his body gave up and shut down.

Time seemed to slow as Dean's knees buckled from underneath him and left him to fall to the unforgiving ground. But before he hit, his eyes closed, and he felt no more.

-SUPERNATURAL-

1:50am

James, who was the station kid by the way, was just about to suggest a decent motel to the shaking man in front of him when the guy collapsed. He barely had time to jump forward and catch the man before his head would have hit the glass covered pavement.

"Oh, crap." James muttered to no one in particular, unsure what to do in this situation.

Drag the man to the station and wait for him to wake up?

Put him back in his car and leave him there?

Call the nearest hospital to pick him up?

They all sounded like doable ideas, but he couldn't just leave the man out, alone and unconscious in a town like this, at night. And keeping him inside the station, wouldn't work either. People would ask questions. . .

And the nearest hospital wasn't all that near. They were in the middle of the Bum-Frick, Nowhere USA, their main and closest medical service being the animal doc. . .

James hated it and planned on getting out of here as soon as he could afford to go to college, but until then, he had to deal with it. And this.

That only left one last option.

James dragged the unconscious late twenty-something man to his own beat up, pick up truck and stuck him carefully in the back seat. Quickly he woke up his friend on shared shift duty to watch the station while he was gone and pulled out of the gas station, driving to nearest motel he could find.

-SUPERNATURAL-

6:00am: Real Dean

It was still dark.

That was the first thing Dean noticed when he woke up. The second was that he was laying in a bed. He still had his jeans and shirt on, having changed from the janitor's outfit as soon as he found his duffel in the only slightly damaged truck of the Impala, and his knife and shoes were on the dresser across from him, but he wasn't sure why, or how this happened.

No knife under the pillow and no duffel bag in the corner.

Dean jack-knifed up into a sitting position, scanning the room for anything else out of the ordinary. He had collapsed at the gas station; that much he remembered, but what happened after that?

The guy must have brought him here.

'Well, I did say I needed a motel' Dean thought, relaxing under the idea that nothing strange happened. Except for one thing. . .

There was something in the room, and he was feeling the same cold presence he felt in the Impala, hours ago.

Remaining as still as he could, Dean shallowed his own breathing and slowly slid his eyes back and forth across the room, waiting for the perpetrator to reveal itself. It was still dark, and the motel's room's curtains were blocking the moon from shining any light, no matter how mellow it was; it was all Dean needed. But without it, he had to rely on the faint outlines and sounds he could pick up; and in a room he hadn't had a chance to memorize the layout yet.

Without any idea on how everything should be, how could he decide what was out of place? It certainly made things a lot harder, but not impossible. If there was something- or someone in the room, he would find it.

Carefully, silently, he ran his hand across the bed and past until his finger tips touched the cool silvery metal of his bowie knife. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt and pulled it close to his chest, the feeling of the weapon in his hand making his palm tingle.

Now having a way to defend or attack, Dean felt ready for whatever may present itself.

"Dean."

He wasn't.

-SUPERNATURAL-

A/N1: I know it was more of a filler in chapter, and didn't have all that much excitement, but the next chapter will, and it should be posted much sooner. (I'm writing it now)

A/N2: Just a couple more weeks till season premiere!!! jumps up and down Is everybody as excited as me? I was also curious on everybody elses takes on the new season. Are you looking forward to, or worried about the new girls they're bringing in? Please R&R and tell me what you think.

Your Obssesed Writer Friend - Kerri!


	18. Chapter 17

**Note:**Hey everybody! I must say I was dancing on clouds when I saw you all didn't give up on me after -what was it? A month?- of not updating. As for me dying in a ditch somewhere. . . That stupid reaper Tessa showed up and told me I could either go with her to the great beyond or stay and become a restless spirit or something. Naturally, I chose the whole spirit thing because I couldn't leave with Supernatural's third season being so close, and I had to keep writing this story. Granted, the whole typing and posting thing has become a whole lot more complicated, but I'm resourceful. LOL! Love you all so much!

**Warning:**** A little more intense swearing in this chapter peeps. I held back, but I figure Dean is pretty pissed about this whole situation and swearing with a little more than one use of 'fuck' seemed appropriate for this scene. It's not a lot, but still deserved a warning in bold print. Sorry if this offends or you find it harder to read. It's just this first part of the chapter, and afterwards will get back to plain old television appropriate swearing. Thanks for reading. - Kerri**

**Chapter Seventeen: And Four is Better Than Two. . . Yeah Right**

Friday, 6:00am: Real Dean

Carefully, silently, he ran his hand across the bed and past until his finger tips touched the cool silvery metal of his bowie knife. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt and pulled it close to his chest, the feeling of the weapon in his hand making his palm tingle.

Now having a way to defend or attack, Dean felt ready for whatever may present itself.

"Dean."

He wasn't.

"I thought we should talk."

Dean twisted his head to the left, facing the direction the voice came from. He tightened his grip on the knife and squinted his eyes, hoping to find the outline of where the man was, (the voice definitely was male) but to no avail. So instead, he focused on sound alone. He held his breath, waiting, listening. . .

Finally, he could hear the small puffs of air the other man was breathing, but they were no longer on his left. Now he was on his right, near the window and door.

Without a second thought, or a plan in his head, Dean sprung off the bed and right into the intruder; his weight and unexpected attack knocking the two of them to the ground and sprawling on the floor. The man's grunt of surprise and expel of air upon impact was enough for Dean. He grabbed for his knife, which had fallen from his hand when he hit the floor, but as soon as he rolled around to face his opponent, a fisted hand met his face, knocking him back down.

Dean fell backward with a grunt of pain, sitting dazed until he heard the other man stand and scuffle to the door.

"Not so fast." Dean growled as he once again jumped and slammed the adversary into the wall with a surprising 'thud', leaving a small crack in the cheap drywall.

The man struggled in his grasp for several minutes, but stopped as soon as Dean stuck the knife under his throat.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean asked, their faces nearly touching each other's; both breathing heavily from the nights exertions. He was met with an amused laugh.

"How about you turn on the light and find out." It was said with condescending authority, like a pompous school teacher speaking to his lowly pupils.

Dean didn't like it. Not one bit.

He pressed the knife a little closer, till he knew it was touching the soft skin under his chin. "You want to be a smart-ass? Huh?"

"No, I don't _want_ to be. I already am." The man was laughing again.

Now Dean was pissed. "Who the fuck are you?!" He spat angrily.

This time the man said nothing, but before Dean had time to ask again he reached his arm over and flicked the switch next to door. Light flooded the previously dark room, and Dean flinched at the brightness his eyes hadn't had time to accustom to, but kept a firm hold on the man pinned to the wall.

"What the-" Dean stopped in mid curse as his eyes adjusted and he looked at the mystery man, shocked into a short lived silence.

"Hey me." The man smirked. It was a familiar smirk. A personal smirk. It was _his_ smirk! "I take it you weren't expecting me."

Dean's jaw dropped. "What the hell?"

Pinned in front of himself, knife placed at his throat was an exact duplicate of Dean himself, say for one slight difference. This man had a single eyepatch over his left eye. It was Deja Vu all over again. After the skin-walker involved with Sam's college friend, Rebecca, Dean felt like he had been seeing peoples' doubles all over the place; the most recent being at the bank where Hendrickson had shown up. It was interesting at first, but now it was just getting old.

That was when he remembered that this wasn't the same. If the double in front of him was anywhere near associated with the 'Sam' he had been hanging with for the last three days than he might be. . . what was it called again? A doppelgänger.

Sure, Dean had heard of them from his dad before, and he never discounted that it could be true, but to see one standing in front of him, and knowing that it wasn't a monster trying to take his skin. . . It was a little hard to swallow all at once.

This was a real Dean.

Just from a different life. Or something like that. Dean hadn't done much research on the things. They were a bit of an enigma as far as he was concerned. Sam probably knew more-

Sam!

It was time to stop trying to figure this out, and time to get Sam back. It had been too long since he'd been able to look his brother in the eye and talk about a new hunt, or to tell him buzz off, or call him a bitch. Way too long.

"Why have you been following me?"

Eyepatch Dean rolled his eyes with boredom. "I've been following you for the same reason you're following the Fed's."

"And what reason is that?" Dean found his stomach knotting; knowing what the answer was before he said it.

"Sammy."

Anger flooded through Dean's veins, like hot wax dripping over the edge of a candle. "Stay the hell away from my brother."

Eyepatch laughed, though he made no attempt to escape Dean's suffocating grasp. "Your brother? I couldn't give a rat's ass about your brother,"

"But you said-" Dean stumbled.

"I'm talking about _my_ brother."

Dean finally understood. "Your brother. . . Sam."

"Yeah."

"He has a tattoo around his right wrist?" The hunter asked.

"Ring of fire." Eyepatch confirmed, nodding his head carefully so as to not slit his own throat against the knife pressed against it.

"I probably should have checked for that first, before giving my whole 'hell's waiting' speech," The double continued. "But this whole time-jumping thing is a little new for me. Forgot that there were more then one of each. . . Poor kid." The doppelgänger didn't sound sympathetic at all.

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked harshly, getting a little sick of all the secrets, confusion, and probably the most missed encounters he'd ever had.

"See," Eyepatch grinned sardonically, "Now I'm talking about your brother."

"Sonuvabitch!" Dean pressed his body closer to the other, popping any and all figurative remaining air bubbles between the wall and the double's back, "What did you do to Sam?"

"Nothing. Well, not much anyway." Eyepatch shrugged nonchalantly, "You were at the hospital. You saw him."

"You sick bastard!" Dean yelled out, preparing to slug the smirking double when Eyepatch swept his foot underneath Dean's legs, knocking the both of them out from under him, dumping the hunter once again to the ground.

Double Dean reached his right hand behind his back to retrieve the handgun hidden in his jean's waistband and pointed it at the fallen dirty blond, whilst his left rubbed his throat gently, attempting to stimulate the blood flow in his neck to continue. "You know, you're pretty interesting. I mean, for a janitor you sure have a wicked knife and a beauty of a car. You even know how to fight, but believe me when I say, you don't know shit about me or what's going on. You haven't seen the things I've seen, and you'll never fight what I've faced. You're a pathetic man who thinks he's all that, but you're not. You're not."

"Janitor?" Okay, out of the many things Dean had pretended to be to get inside businesses and homes, a janitor wasn't really one of them. Handyman, yes. Janitor, no. Evil freak must have seen him when he left the hospital.

"Yeah. I saw you at the hospital in your uniform."

"I'm not a freaking janitor, dick-head." Dean sneered, picking himself off the floor, his eyes firmly glued to the firearm in the double's hand, pointing in his direction.

"Really?" Eyepatch was intrigued. If this man wasn't a janitor, what was he?

"Yeah, really." Dean stared down the man, his eyes narrowing down to menacing slits. "And you have no fucking clue who you're messing with."

Other Dean's eyes widened in shock when Dean launched himself at him, grabbing the gun from his hand, pushing the two of them to the floor and pinned him underneath, gun pointed to his temple.

"Now you listen to me, Freak." Dean hissed forcefully. "I don't really care who you are, or where you came from. I don't give a damn on your little problem with your brother and why you're looking for him," He took his free hand and took a hold of the double's hair to make sure they were staring eye to eye. "But I do, got that, I _do_ think you should have thought twice before messing with Sammy. With my brother."

Eyepatch grunted with the pain of the fall and his eyes showed a fear and understanding Dean hadn't seen people give him since he helped the sick man out of the bank in Milwaukee a few weeks ago. He wasn't completely sure why, but it made him feel good. Real good.

"I don't care why you were following me, or why your perverted bastard self is here in my room, but here's what's going to happen,"

Dean lowered his voice, realizing that he had risen to an angry yelling and not wanting any good intentioned busybody interrupting their little talk. "You're going to help me."

"What?" Pinned Dean, stared at him in utter disbelief.

"You heard me." Dean growled, "You're going to come with me, and you are going to help me get my brother back."

"You. . . you really think I'm going to help you? Save that bleeding heart brother of yours?" Eyepatch laughed humorlessly, "You have lost your freaking mind."

Dean jabbed him.

Other Dean grunted, grimacing slightly at the unpleasant pressure bestowed upon him. Dean leaned down, low enough so that his breath could be felt reflected off the other's face. "Trust me on this. If you don't help me, I will make your life a living hell. Fucked up won't even begin to cover it-"

"Alright."

Dean stopped jabbing. "What?"

"I said alright. I'll do it." Eyepatch repeated louder. "I'll go with you and help get your brother back. But you listen to me on this,"

Dean let go of the double's hair and lessened the pressure he putting on the other's chest.

"After this whole thing, this whole rescue mission crap, after that, all bets are off."

"Go on." Dean nodded.

"After your precious Sammy," Pinned Dean spat the name like a particularly repugnant curse. "After he's safe, I'm no longer your little partner in this whole adventure. I'm going to help you on this, not because you're threatening me or that I'm taking any of what you're saying seriously, but because I have my own little piece of business to take care of there. That's the deal."

Dean stared down at his own face, disliking the way it was looking at him. It isn't everyday you have an opportunity to look into your own eyes and see if you can trust yourself or not. That's one of those things most people already know. If you can trust yourself. But him? This. . . doppelgänger?

He wasn't even sure why he proposed they work together. Together! The very idea was ludicrous after what this freak practically confessed to doing to Sam. To his brother. All those injuries. This man did that to him.

Did Sam know that it wasn't him? Was it possible that Sam thought he hurt him on purpose like that. That he could do those things to him?

Which brought up yet another disturbing question. What the hell happened in this new Dean's past to make him hate his brother this much. To want to hurt him. To try and kill him. It was all too much.

"It's a deal then." Dean lowered the gun from the double's head and stood up, though he offered no hand to help the other off the ground. "Get up." He said gruffly. "We're leaving."

The Doppelgänger quickly stood with a curious expression. "Leaving? You were sleeping for about only four hours."

"You know, that fact that you know that is a little creepy, so if we could keep the whole idea that you're a gay perv. to a minimum, it would be nice." Dean looked around for his boots, spotted them on the dresser where he remembered seeing them earlier that morning and stuck them on his feet, methodically working on the laces till they both had secure knots. It was one of his dad's old pet peeves.

One of the first things John taught him when he was a kid was to be sure that your shoes were always properly tied. Even though he had been new to the whole hunter community thing, his father knew how dangerous tripping over your own shoelaces could be in the middle of a hunt.

"I'm not gay." Other Dean bristled with indignation.

"But you admit you're a pervert." Dean dead panned.

"I'll let you decide."

"Perfect." The dirty blond said with little amount of emotion behind the words whilst he searched through the motel room and it's bathroom before coming out again and looking at the doppelgänger with confusion fused with agitation.

"What?"

"Where's my duffel bag?"

"Oh, um, in the trunk of your car, I think."

Dean walked over to the window and parted the curtains, partly happy and worried to see that the sun was peeking over the horizon. Worried, because that meant the four hours he slept was four hours too many. Who knew how far those FBI people went, or exactly where they went at all? Happy, because that meant he could see outside, which incidentally, also turned out to be a worrisome thing when he saw that his beloved Impala was not sitting outside in the small motel's parking lot.

"And where the hell is my car? And if you so much as hint that you carried me here-"

"I didn't." The other Dean hurriedly replied. "I have my own pride to worry about you know. But I think that the kid at the gas station drove you here. Naturally I followed behind."

"So it's at the gas station?" Dean asked hopefully, ignoring the opportunity for another jab at the double's sexual orientation.

"Unless it got towed. Besides, we couldn't use it anyway."

"Why not?" Dean asked, offended at the idea that the Impala wouldn't be of any use to them.

"I thought it was obvious." The doppelgänger rolled his eyes, "Other then the fact that the trunk still opens and closes, it's virtually scrap metal. Besides, you really think that even if it magically begins to run again, it would take us where we're trying to go without being a little bit too conspicuous?" He gave a soft chuckle to indicate the absurdity of the idea.

Dean hated to admit it, but the creep had a point. A point that made his blood boil like volcanic lava, but a point nonetheless. "I guess that probably wouldn't work."

"Yeah, I didn't think so. We'll take my truck."

"But we still need to stop at the gas station first." Dean insisted.

"Why? You can't go a few days in the same socks?" Eyepatch snarked with some annoyance.

"No." Dean growled, getting tired of dancing circles with this smart-ass. He was suddenly struck with wondering if Sam ever felt this way when they fought, or basically talked in general. "I've got. . . stuff in the trunk. I'll need it." He carefully evaded going into details on what exactly was in that trunk. No need to let this other Dean know everything about him just yet. If he had to rely on this person as a friend while stuck in a car for who knew how many hours, he wanted to have his own sort of 'security' at arm's length.

"Right." Eyepatch stressed the 'I'. "Just stuff."

Dean nodded.

"Fine. I needed to fill up the tank anyway."

Dean gave a sharp upward lift of his chin to indicate his consent of their plan, before turning his back to the doppelgänger to pick up his bowie knife from its forsaken place on the floor, frowning at the small smear of red staining the silver blade. He must have pierced skin when he was holding the weapon at the double's neck.

The very thought made Dean smile. He may be working with the man, but that didn't mean he liked him. Oh no. Not even close.

-SUPERNATURAL-

6:23am

It had taken several hours for the FBI to drive back to their main offices, but still it was quicker than most. At least they hadn't needed to fly.

Daniel and Jim exchanged meaningful glances to the other before swinging their car doors open and stepping out into the fresh air. Excitement was permeating the air the way it always does when there was a capture, but apprehension was what followed.

No one at the base knew what they had found at the hospital: two Sam's. It sounded strange at best and insane at worst. The group decided that waiting to tell till they got back would be the best idea. Especially considering that they hadn't found Dean.

"Hendrickson is going to flip." Dan mumbled to his friend.

Jim rolled his eyes. "Vic can go screw himself."

"You said that back at the hospital already."

"Then I must really mean it."

The agents' banter was interrupted by the shouting of the medical staff unloading the two look-alike's from their van; calling for instructions on the placement of the boys.

Daniel rolled his eyes, mumbled something about the incompetence of their medical team, and helped them take the stretchers into the building. He decided the best place to put them was in a solitary holding cell. The medics had thoroughly looked over the damage, and declared that, while their injuries were indeed severe, they would more than likely be lucid enough to answer questions. What they didn't tell the dark haired FBI agent was that they forgot which one the hospital labeled to be the actual Sam. Come on! They looked exactly the same!

"They'll probably wake up in a couple hours." Daniel was informed. He nodded at this and let them continue setting up the boys in their cell. It was time to break the news to his partner.

-SUPERNATURAL-

6:24am

The atmosphere at the FBI headquarters could only be described as bustling. Every agent following his or her own leads, on their own cases. Every phoneline busy with what would mostly be false tips. But in one moment, all of that changed. The reason for that was real simple: Dean Winchester.

For the first few months, nobody cared that Hendrickson was on the trail of a serial sociopath. And even after the bizarre deaths in St. Louis, the other agents didn't give the case a second glance. But after the spectacular getaway in Milwaukee Wisconsin? People noticed.

Soon, the whole department knew of the Winchester brothers and their escapades, setting up bets on the date of their capture, offering help when they could. But even through all this, Victor managed to alienate them all. He didn't want their help. He could do this on his own. The last thing he needed was for the boys to be brought in and him not able to take the credit for it all.

The Winchester's were his case, and he wanted it to stay that way. But that couldn't stop the excitement when news got out on why Daniel Masters had left with a team and medical staff to some off the map town in the middle of nowhere.

So when Hendrickson's secretary ran into his office and announced, rather breathlessly that his partner had returned with the boys' in tow, he jumped out of his chair and ran down the hallway, flying down the stairs in a desperate need to prove to himself that he wasn't just having a good dream.

As soon as he saw his partner walk through the headquarter's double doors he grinned and called out: "Masters!"

Daniel turned his head and nodded to acknowledge his presence, though without the excitement Hendrickson thought a man who caught someone on the 'Most Wanted' list should have. "Vic."

Victor ran forward and grabbed his friend by the shoulders, clapping him gratulatory on the back. "Their here. You got them?"

"Uh, yeah, Vic. About that. . ." Masters stumbled around his words before breathing heavily and steering his friend back into his office, closing the door behind them.

Victor shot his partner a confused glance and raised an eyebrow.

Daniel sighed and nodded to the desk chair. "We need to talk."

-SUPERNATURAL-

7:00am

Sam awoke to the sound of his own labored breathing. Or, well, it sounded like his breathing anyway, but unless he suddenly became a world class ventriloquist, it couldn't be. The sounds of heavy breaths and short gasps of air, like those of a person trapped in a nightmare, were coming from a little ways to his right.

He turned his head gingerly, attempting not to remind his skull of the headache it had been so generously dishing out for the last few days, trying to grab a view of his surroundings.

At first glance it seemed like he was still in his room at St. Mary's hospital, but being trained as a hunter -by John Winchester no less- he knew better than to believe his drugged up instincts. Taking a closer look and listening carefully to the sounds around him, Sam could tell that this place was completely different.

There was no beeping heart monitor sitting next to his bed, no nurses coming in and out to check on his status, and no windows on any of the walls. . . it worried him. He knew after the strange chat with dream/mirror/warning-giver/double guy, he woke up in a panic, resulting in one of the nurses injecting him with some kind sleep inducing drug, but that wouldn't explain why he was moved.

Strangely enough, he felt a whole lot more better than before. Maybe he had been out for a while and they moved him out of the ICU and into a regular recovery room. That would be a good thing, right? Then why did he feel so anxious?

"Hey."

Sam nearly got whiplash as he jack-knifed from the bed, the unexpected voice jolting through him like an electric shock.

"Whoa, dude. Calm down, alright?" The voice said again. "No need to be so freakin' jumpy. We're all friends here."

Sam waited for his heart to slowly slide back down from his throat to where it belonged in his chest before he even tried to speak. "Who's 'we'?"

"Well, that would be you and me and, um. . . Nope, guess it's just you and me." The voice sounded kind of bored at the whole thing.

"Oh." Sam looked around the room and discovered that the breathing he heard earlier was coming from the man in the single bed to his right. He expected to see a face, but instead he was only met with the back of his 'roomie'. "So, where are we exactly."

"The crazy house." The voice said, cackling slightly at the words.

"What?" Sam found himself gripped by panic. They wouldn't send him to the psych ward because of his reaction to his dreams, right?

"I'm kidding." The man said again, voice again bored, his back still facing the hunter. "You really need to relax."

"Right." Sam carefully nodded his head, mixed with the feeling of relief that nobody thought he was crazy, and wanting to strangle this joker for messing with his head like that. Dean would have. Strangled him that is.

"Anyway, I'm not completely sure where we are. I just know that we probably don't want to be where ever we are."

Sam rubbed the back of his head gently, careful not to touch any of his bruises from the warehouse floor. Concrete was definitely one of those things that should always be carpeted, regardless of location. "How long was I asleep?"

"A little less then a twenty-four hours."

"What? That long?"

"Yeah, we were drugged and then brought here."

"Why?"

"I don't know." The man sounded angry and not a little annoyed at the whole situation.

"A day. . ." Sam whispered quietly trying to absorb this new information. Honestly, he was thoroughly frustrated and getting a little sick of not knowing what was going on, and just when his dream gave him the answers, this happens. His life most definitely sucked. Big time. But then he was struck with another thought. He was running his hand through his hair. His right hand. . . And it didn't hurt.

It didn't make any sense. He knew by experience that he at least sprained his wrist when he fought with that other Dean person. He lifted his hospital issue white t-shirt to check on his no longer throbbing side and gasped when he saw it had healed and shrunk down to a thin white scar line.

"You're healing." The man spoke again.

"What?" Sam asked warily, confused as to how this guy seemed to know exactly what was happening to him. "How do you know?"

The man sighed and turned around, causing Sam's eyes to widen to unnatural sized circles when he saw who it was. Sitting directly in front of him was an exact duplicate of himself. Everything was the same. Well, everything but a dark fire tattoo circling the other's wrist.

"I know because I'm the one healing you."

-SUPERNATURAL-

**A/N1:** Okay, I feel really guilty for giving you guys only a tiny piece of Sam this chapter. I love that guy to death, so you all can sleep knowing that next chapter will have a whole lot more of him. huggles Sam until Kripke gets the restraining order Anywho. . . Reviews are so welcome that I decided to base my life force on them! Every time you don't review, a little bit of me dies inside. Keep me alive! Review! Actually, you all review pretty faithfully, so I thank you for that. Sends cake, cookies, and a lock of Sam's hair to all. So if his hair seems little more sparse in the season premiere, you only have yourselves to blame. . .

**A/N2:** On the note of the sequel/prequel for this story, I have finally given it a title while continuing to write it. The title will be: **Through the Looking Glass**. I thought it would be rather appropriate seeing as who and what the story's about. PsiChic, you should be excited to know that if the history of the tattoo isn't fully explained in this story, it will in that one. Prepare yourselves, because at the end of this story (which may or may not be soon) I'm gonna give you all a sneak preview! Hopefully it will interest enough of you to read it. crosses fingers

**A/N3:** Also, I am now a proud owner of the season two DVD's! dances on a nearby table Now I can watch the episodes over and over again till my eyes start spinning in hypnotized circles! It's wonderful! Of course, my parents don't know I watch this show, let alone write fiction for it, so my full excitement can only be displayed here. checks to be sure I'm not being followed WHOOOOOHOO!! Love you all, thank you so much for reading.

Your nut-job writer friend - Kerri B.


	19. Chapter 18

**Beginning Note/Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men nor any of the characters within. They all belong to 'Marvel' Comics and any affiliates. Which is not me.

**Chapter Eighteen: Call Me John**

Friday 7:10am

Samuel sighed with resignation as he turned around, knowing that this time would have to come sooner or later. It would be interesting to see how much Sammy knew about himself. "I know, because I'm the one healing you."

Sam stared at Samuel in open-mouthed shock. 'What the hell?. . .'

Samuel stood up, walked across the small expanse between their beds and offered his hand. "Samuel Winchester. Pleased to finally meet you."

"Wait a minute," Sam shook his head, trying to clear the fuzzy cobwebs that still remained as an after-effect of the drugs, "What the hell is going on here?"

"It would be easier to tell you what I know if you start telling me what _you_ know." Samuel countered. "I assume you've already figured out what I am here."

"You're my doppelgänger." Sam said with a certain amount of awe that made Samuel unable to resist puffing up with pride.

"Yeah. I am."

"Why are you here?"

"Here as in with you, or _here_, as in this universe/dimension?"

"The dimension."

Samuel gave a half smile and shook his head. "I had my reasons."

Sam frowned at the non-answer. If there was anything he remembered from the small amount of reading he had done on these things, it was that they weren't _things_ at all. They really were them. He remembered that, and the fact that though they come on the pretense of somebody helpful, their intentions are usually malicious at best.

Others say that for one to see their own doppelgänger was an omen of death.

He kinda hoped that the guy was only here to give misleading advice.

Of course, those were just the legends, folklore and rumors. There really hadn't been any proven evidence that any of those ideas were true. This might be completely different.

He looked Samuel up and down, noticing with no small amount of interest that the double didn't have a shadow like himself. It was a little disconcerting.

"Yeah," Samuel interrupted his thoughts, indicating to the lack of shadow. "It kind of freaked me out when I got here, not to have a shadow. You don't know unnatural it feels not to have one. Like I'm some kind of a monster or something."

Sam gave a weak laugh, attempting to not let his nerves show, though knowing all the same that there was no way to hide them. His hands were practically shaking; though he attributed some of that to the wear the drugs had in his system.

Samuel continued to speak as though Sam was engaging in conversation, though the latter was still staring at the former with wary interest. "It was a little freaky at first, when I came here. I would look in a mirror and see nothing; not even water gave me a reflection. If I didn't already know I was a doppelgänger here, I probably would have thought I was a vampire or something!"

"So the legends were right about that." Sam said quietly. 'I wonder what else they were right about. Or what they left out. . .'

"You said you were healing me. I didn't think doppelgängers had healing powers." Sam finally said.

"Doppelgängers don't." Samuel sat back on his bed, the two 'Sam's' looking at each other with a certain amount of interest. "But_ I_ do. Or you do, I guess. . ." He trailed off when he noticed Sam's forehead wrinkling in confusion. "Okay, looks like I need to back up a little bit. What do you know about your powers? I mean, you do have powers, right? Something only people your exact age would have?"

"I have, uh, I have death visions." Sam said quietly, realizing that there might be cameras somewhere in the room.

"Is that all?" Samuel asked in disbelief.

"Well, I used telekinesis once." He admitted.

"Once, huh." Samuel rubbed thoughtfully at his stubbled chin. Both of them had a decent amount of scruff on their faces from lack of shaving for the last six days. "And when did that happen?"

"It was when I met another special kid. Max had telekinesis."

"And you never used it again."

Sam couldn't help but notice that Samuel said it as a statement and not a question.

"Right."

"Okay, I can tell you don't know much about your powers so I guess here it is.

"Every kid is born with two powers. One manifest, and one latent. Your -or our- manifested power was the visions. Death visions mainly, though after further development they become more of window to the future, whether it warns of death or not."

"And my latent power is telekinesis?" Sam asked, leaning forward so as not to miss a word said. For months he had wondering what was going on with him, and now, finally, he might get some answers.

"Not exactly." Samuel shook his head. "Our secondary power is a little harder to explain." For three minutes and ten seconds he sat, saying nothing until he snapped his fingers and gave an excited smile to indicate he found a way to describe it. Needless to say, this wait only made Sam anticipate the explanation more.

"Have you ever seen X-Men?"

Sam cocked his head to side and frowned. X-Men? What was Samuel getting at? "Uh, yeah. A little. Why?"

"You know that chick Rogue -the hot one with the weird dual hair color thing going?-"

Sam nodded, though slower, not sure if he was going to like where this was going.

"Well, we're like her."

"Wait doesn't she have a death touch?"

Samuel furrowed his brows and sighed. "Oh yeah. I meant besides that part."

Sam just shook his head, finally giving up on trying to figure this out and waited for the doppelgänger to tell him.

"What I was trying to say," Samuel rubbed the back of his head, running his fingers through his longish dark brown hair. "Was that when she touches people -besides the whole death touch thing- she can temporarily take their powers. You following?"

"Sort of." Sam admitted.

"Right well, here's an easier version: We absorb peoples powers. Though not by touch. Mainly it's judged by proximity. Somebody has telekinesis, we can use telekinesis. Telepath? You can start reading minds." Samuel smiled at that.

"Wait, I knew this guy who could use his voice to control people. Why couldn't I use that?" Sam asked cautiously.

"Could he control you?"

"No."

"Then you were using it. You probably just didn't know it. See, when you absorb a special kid's power, you don't get it to the strength they do. If he could control people with voice or mind alone, the best you could do was use their power to make yourself immune." Samuel could tell Sam was waiting for a less complicated example.

"Look, I once got into a fight with this super strong kid. I absorbed his power, so when he punched me, instead having my entire face cave in, or an arm go flying, it just hurt like hell. And when I punched him back, I could knock him down, instead of breaking my hand against his jaw." Samuel grimaced in pain as if lost in a not so fond memory.

"Wait, super strength? I thought all the powers were psychic. This is starting to sound a little more like your basic comic book." Sam raised an eyebrow and added: "Like the X-Men."

"Believe me, there are all kinds. The Yellow Eyed Demon doesn't like patterns. Says it makes him too predictable."

"You talked to him?" Sam asked, surprised.

Samuel glared. "I think you're getting off subject."

Sam could tell that Samuel wasn't going to talk about the demon anymore, so he sighed and continued with his original questions. "So you're saying that when I'm around special children, I get a little piece of their powers. Basically, enough to keep me alive?"

Samuel brought his attention back to the moment and nodded. "Yeah. Looks like you got it."

"So, does that mean a healer is nearby? Another one of 'us' is around?"

"No. You're just absorbing my powers."

"But you didn't say we could heal." Sam insisted.

"_I_ can. You can't." Samuel clarified.

"How can you heal and I can't?"

"I have my ways." Samuel said quietly, turning away so Sam could no longer see his face and the pain within the words.

Sam sat still on his bed, quietly watching the newly discovered doppelgänger as he paced around the room several times before sitting back on his bed with a sigh of frustration and what Sam thought sounded a bit like hopelessness.

Minutes ticked by in painful agony to the hunter as he stared at the single clock on the wall across from him.

_Tick. . ._

_Tick_. . .

_Tick. . ._

Finally, he gave up on thinking altogether and laid back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling tiles with less than mild interest, until he blurted out the question that he had been waiting to ask all morning.

"Who's Tara?"

-SUPERNATURAL-

7:30am: Real Dean

Dean could see the gas station from the night earlier coming into view and gave a well deserved sigh of relief. The Impala was still there, in all of it's despairingly wrecked glory. Whether in one piece or smashed to smithereens, the car was still a shining light of hope in Dean's awestruck eyes. Yeah, he loved his car that much. . .

"Whew, that is one hunk of junk." The 'other' Dean whistled at the sight.

Dean glared daggers into the side of the man's head. "How can you say such a thing about a classic car like that, and still be me?"

"Well, I'm sure that thing works fine with your lifestyle and all, but in my line of work I have to be a little more discreet. Blend in, stay under the radar, you know? That thing sticks out like an elephant in the suburbs."

Dean tried ignore the blatant insult of the Impala and shook his head with slightly disgusted wonderment. "Fits my lifestyle? You thought I was janitor."

"Hey, I think every person is entitled to make a mistake every now and then without having to worry about somebody ragging on them for it."

"Yeah, but how long can that go on before the person making mistakes gets hung?"

Doppelgänger Dean gave a half serious smile as he pulled into the gas station. "Well, hopefully just long enough for him to understand why he's going to hell."

Dean lapsed into silence, pondering what the doppelgänger had said. He wondered if it was a joke, an observation, or something he knew from experience. As much as he hated to admit it, he really wanted to know something about this guy. Why was he here? What happened to his eye? What kind of life did he have? Did he begin hunting at a young age too, or was he a normal guy sucked into this life at a later age?

"Hey."

Eyepatch interrupted his thoughts and nodded out the passenger side window, past Dean. "You can get out now."

"Oh, right." Dean jumped out of the pick-up truck and walked over to the Impala. Now being at spitting distance from the classic machine, he could see what the other 'Dean' was talking about. She was a wreck. She was Black Beauty with a broken leg, except for her being a car, and needing towed instead of carted, and that parts would getting replaced instead of healed or whatever shit horses do. Give Dean some credit here; it's not like John made a point of teaching them about animals, let alone read a book like 'Black Beauty'.

The hunter ran his hand lovingly across the car's body until he got to the trunk and gave a deep resigned sigh. Carefully he unlocked the trunk and lifted the hood, grimacing at the protesting creak he received for the motion. "Sorry baby." He apologized. "Just need to get a few things."

These 'few things' Dean were referring to, happened to weapons of the damaging sort. He took hold of a small silver dagger -which visually, looked more like a fancy letter opener- and placed it in the velcro strapped sheath around his ankle. After the knife was secured he lowered his pant hem back down past his boot and stood back up, checking to be sure no one was around to see what was in his car.

With relief, he saw that nobody was in sight, but that was then replaced with a worried panic. The 'other' Dean was no longer sitting in the truck, and Dean could see that he wasn't in the gas station either. . .

"Huh, when you said 'stuff' I thought you meant a spare change of clothes, or your wallet or something, but this is well- not."

Dean spun around, cursing himself in his mind for not even sensing the man coming up quietly behind him, and saw that he was no longer behind him, but had instead moved over to his other side, peering curiously into the trunk of the Impala.

"What's this? A bag of salt?" Eyepatch poked at the bag with a grin. "A dream catcher, about a dozen crucifixes and crosses, rifles, knives, and two boxes of water marked 'regular' and 'holy'. . . Huh, you either have a really interesting history, or you've seen one too many supernaturalistic movies."

Dean stared transfixed, torn between horror and awe as the double reached into the trunk and pulled out one of the knives, spinning it knowledgeably between his fingers before flipping the hilt into the palm of his hand. "Must admit, your weaponry is in great shape." He handed the knife to Dean. "You'll probably be wanting that."

Dean nodded, trying to decide if he was relieved or worried that this other Dean wasn't all that shocked at the items in his car.

Other Dean gave a rather familiar smirk as he picked up a pendant laying alone at the bottom of the trunk and held it by the thin leather strap. "Looks like we have something in common." He reached up to his neck and pulled another necklace previously hidden underneath his shirt. It was an exact duplicate of the one being held in his hand. It was Dean's pendant.

"Where did you get that?" Dean grabbed his necklace back and placed it around his neck.

"Mine?" Eyepatch pointed to himself. "A gift from an old friend. You?"

"My dad gave it to me." Dean fingered the item absently.

A pained expression flashed across the doppelgänger's face before disappearing with a well placed though obviously fake smile. "You two were close?"

Dean looked up, surprised. "Uh, yeah. We spent a lot of time together."

The doppelgänger nodded and lay the pistol he was holding back in the trunk. "So, uh, you want grab your junk so we can get out of here? Daylights wasting. Of course, that probably doesn't matter so much since we'll be driving all night too. . ."

Dean waited as he trailed off before speaking. "Right." He grabbed a couple bottles of holy water, some protection amulets, a rifle with a case of bullets, some rock salt, and his duffel bag.

"We can stick the stuff in the back." Other Dean pointed to the back of his truck. It struck Dean how similar the vehicle was to his father's.

Both Dean's carried the stuff -wrapped up in blankets so as to not arouse suspicion or questions in general- to the truck, and the doppelgänger took a key out of his pocket, placing it in a lock before giving it a harsh twist.

Dean stood in shock. Inside the back of the truck was nearly an identical arsenal of equipment of what was in the Impala. Holy water, salt bags, protection amulets, weapons and books of Latin. It was surreal to say the least. His doppelgänger was a hunter.

"Quit staring at the merchandise." Other Dean rolled his eyes. "You look like you've never seen this stuff before, which, seems a little hypocritical seeing as what was lurking in the back corners of your car."

Dean shook his head and quickly dumped his equipment with the rest before the other Dean slammed the door closed.

"All set?"

"Yeah." Dean jumped into the passenger seat and waited for the double to finish paying for the gas and join him. It took a couple minutes but soon, the other Dean had started up the engine and was driving down the highway at a little over reasonable pace.

The Deans' had been driving for a little longer then two hours, and the silence between them was becoming increasingly deafening.

Dean had spent this time staring listlessly through the window, inwardly berating himself for the mess he had fallen in. Here he was, driving down the highway with another version of himself, in search of his brother Sam, who should have been with him the entire time, but wasn't because somehow he and his own double got switched, leaving his younger brother alone and obviously hurt, sending him to the county hospital and then shipped off to the FBI; right into the hands of Hendrickson. It was all too much.

"What was he like?"

Dean jumped, knocking his head against the window glass with a small yelp. "What?" He asked, rubbing his head with exaggerated fervor.

"Our dad. What was he like?"

After the initial weird feeling of this guy calling John 'their' dad, Dean cleared his throat repeatedly. "Um, he was, well, you know. A dad." He said weakly.

Dean watched as the double's forehead crinkled, conveying what he was surprised to say was sadness and possibly. . . loss. Dean tried again. "I can't imagine that he was any different here, then he was where you came from."

"I doubt that."

Dean paused for a minute, noting the bitterness in the other's voice. He realized that though they were having the same conversation, they weren't talking about the same thing. And then he was struck with a thought that hadn't occurred to him before. What _was_ John like in that other universe?

Dean continued. "Well, he taught me to hunt, defend myself. He helped me take care of Sammy."

"You and Sam were always together?"

Dean's mind flashed back to when his brother left for college but dismissed it quickly. "Uh, yeah, pretty much. Dad was always such a Nazi about that. Never let either of us go anywhere without the other."

"Was?" The doppelgänger suddenly asked. "Is he. . . gone?"

"Yeah. He died a few months ago." Dean said quietly.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright."

"At least you got to spend so many years with him." The doppelgänger continued in a rather yearning tone. "I'll bet that was great."

"Uh, yeah, sometimes." Dean wasn't sure what the guy was getting at.

"Well, you and your dad were close too, right?"

The other Dean bit his lip and shook his head. "Don't know. We didn't really get a chance to find out."

"What happened?" Dean asked curiously before remembering this wasn't just a mystery to this guy, it was his life.

"He died."

"I'm sorry." Dean echoed the words said to him earlier and watched as the trees continued to pass in a blur of browns and greens at an accelerated rate.

"It's okay. I don't really remember that much about him. He died when I was five. . ."

"Fire?" Dean asked, dreading the answer.

"Yeah."

Quiet once again fell upon them and wrapped them up a blanket of silence. That is, until the other Dean spoke up again:

"You can call me John."

"What?" Dean asked, confused at the strange and unexpected statement.

"You haven't called me by my name since you knew who I was." The doppelgänger said as a matter of fact. "I figured that it bugs you; makes you accept that this is real. Or that you've gone completely insane."

Dean thought this over and realized that what the man with the eyepatch said was true. Somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to call his other self by his name. . .

"Anyway, half of my life I went by my dad's name." At Dean's confused glance, he clarified. "It was my hunting name. I couldn't afford to let my hunting life get too involved with my real life, so I used an alias."

"John." Dean finished.

"Yeah. Well, at any rate, if it makes it any easier, you can call me that."

The other Dean, or 'John' turned back to the road, and didn't look back to see if Dean was going to listen or not.

Dean sat heavily in his seat, mulling over what the doppelgänger had said. Calling him John would be a whole lot easier. . . He thought about that for several minutes before pressing the buttons on the car's radio and grinned at hearing Boston's: Peace of Mind playing.

He leaned back and let the music penetrate his thoughts, numbing his mind until calm was all he felt, and cool was all he was. Still grinning, he turned to the man with the eyepatch and said:

"Alright John. Where to?"

-SUPERNATURAL-

A/N1: And smash cut! Okay, I must admit that this story and I have been struggling for power for a while, and the story keeps winning. I tell it we need to write more about Sam and what's going on with him, and the story wants to focus on Dean and the search for his brother with his doppelgänger. Needless to say, every time I began to write Sam's part, I could immediately think of a thousand things to do with Dean, it was pitiful really. So this chapter, I forced sleeping pills down the story's throat, so hopefully Sam seemed satisfyingly prominent, though I still have a thousand ideas for Dean. evil plotting laugh Anywho. . .

A/N2: Well, that was a pretty interesting chapter. What's the deal with Samuel? Is he telling the Sam the whole truth about his powers? What exactly is his relationship with the Yellow-Eyed Demon? How about Dean and 'John'? Is he really going to help Dean get Sammy back? Why is he after Samuel? So many questions, and my fingers are about to fall off from typing! feels faint from the drama Hope all of Sam and Samuel's conversation didn't confuse anybody. I had to go back and rewrite it a couple dozen times for it to even start making sense to myself, so speak up if I left you in the dark. Please. Unintentional confusion is a terrible thing.

A/N3: OMG!! It's Premiere Day Eve! fluffs up all couch cushions for maximum comfiness and starts popping the popcorn I cannot express how excited I am! Thousands of people sitting around their televisions, all worrying about our boys and their fates in the same hour. . . Makes you want to dance doesn't it? All I can say is: More power to us Supernaturalist's and death to Grey's Anatomy in my opinion. Which you didn't ask for, but these are my notes, you don't have to read them. (But you know you want to) Lol.

Thank you so much for reading, and remember that reviews are what make the world go round. Luv you all.

Your 'Greys' hating writer friend - Kerri


	20. Chapter 19

**Beginning Note:** Let me first say how sorry I am for taking too long to post this. Life decided it hadn't bitten me in a while (one stinking week) so playing with me like a kitten and string, it made sure that writing couldn't be one of my priorities. But here it is now, and I hope you all haven't finally thrown in your jackets and deleted me off your alert list. Thank you so much for the awesome reviews I receieved. Congrats to PsiChic for her longest review, and a big thanks to Goddess972 for her first review! Also let me say to Adara-chan that I totally understand the frustration of not having a solid evil entity visible. Your review reminded me that I hadn't let my bad guy be a bad guy for while, so here's my promise to everyone who feels the same as her: Your evil baddie will be revealed this chapter and, unless something else makes more sense later, will stay that way. - Kerri

**Chapter Nineteen: Deal or No Deal**

Time Unknown

The doorbell rang.

No. The doorbell was ringing.

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

Missouri Mosely was not the least bit excited, nor happy at the incessant knocking and bell ringing abusing not only her ears, but her door. She had been in the middle of a very delicate spell when she felt the strong presence descending upon her house like a storm cloud, and it had only gotten stronger since. This was not how she wanted to spend her weekend.

By the time she arrived at the front of her house the knocking ended, she noticed, but the overpowering presence still remained.

She ripped the front door open. "What the hell do you-" She cut off her angry salutation at the sight before her.

A brunet man she would place in his early to mid twenties was slumped down on her porch, his back leaning heavily against the doorframe. His hair was the very definition of disarray, and his eyes sunk back with circles rivaling those of a racoon. He looked like death only slightly warmed over. She also couldn't help but notice the desperation radiating off of his entire being, screaming for help.

"A- Are you. . . Missouri?" He tilted his head up, his voice trembling and not just a little bit weary.

Missouri narrowed her eyes, disliking the way she could not enter his mind like she could others. This man had power and potential. A dangerous combination if she ever heard one. "Yes I am."

"Thank you." He whispered before his eyes rolled up to the back of his head and he fell against the white washed wood of her porch, head hitting it with a muffled 'thunk'.

Missouri stood there for several seconds, just staring at the man now laying on her porch. "Well _that's_ never happened before." She mused to herself. Glancing around, she knew she would have to bring the man inside, before her neighbors saw and started asking questions. She was already an outcast of the area, and she liked it that way.

Rolling her eyes with frustration, the black witch wrapped her arms around the stranger's shoulders and dragged him into her house, grunting with exertion as she somehow managed to lay him on her couch, spying a bluish, intricate tattoo of flames encircling his right wrist.

As soon as his head hit the pillow she had placed under him, she felt a small tingling in the back of her mind. His subconscious was opening to her.

"_So, mysterious stranger, what is your name?"_ She telepathically asked.

_Sam. . . My name is Samuel._ The voice was soft and timid, but Missouri knew better then to believe everything she heard. There was something very wrong about this boy. . .

"_Well Samuel. It seems you have found yourself in a spot of trouble. Care to explain what brings you to my doorstep?"_

No answer.

"_Don't you ignore me boy."_ She growled.

_I need your help._

She pulled her mind away from his as soon as she heard his breathing pattern changing to a heavy and erratic pace, while his hand clutched tightly to his chest. That was when she noticed the dark, crimson liquid staining his shirt.

_Help me. . ._

Lifting the fabric up so she could see the damage, she sucked a deep breath in when she saw three gigantic claw marks streaking from the top of his right shoulder, past his chest and stomach, and down to his left side waist, along with an arsenal of other cuts and bruises lining his sides and ribcage.

"Aw, shit."

-SUPERNATURAL-

Friday at 8:00am

"Tara. Tara, wake up."

Tara jack-knifed to a sitting position, feeling the beads of sweat trickle around her brows and hairline.

"T, it's okay. You just had a bad dream." A young male voice comforted softly.

"Colin?" She squinted through the darkness, knowing her little brother was standing within the door-frame of her room.

"Yeah." He said before slowly walking over to the side of her bed and sitting down. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm alright."

"Good." Colin gave a small, relieved smile that Tara didn't have to see to know it was there. Ever since she had developed her abilities, her brother had become more aware of her and what was going on; becoming more a mother hen then she herself was. "You want to talk about it?"

Tara started to shake her head but changed her mind. "Only if you want to hear it."

"I'm here aren't I?"

Tara smiled at that. He _was_ here. This was supposed to be the week where he stayed with their parents, but instead he decided to stay with her. Not that she blamed him. After their mom got remarried to Todd, the house had become a completely different place. Tara herself could tell she was no longer welcome when he was around. But Colin and her always stuck together. Always had and always would.

"It wasn't that exciting really." She admitted.

"Then what, pray-tell, did you see that had you tossing around like somebody was trying to smother you with your own pillow?" Colin could tell she was already trying to downplay the dream, and he was in no way going to let that happen. If she was going to tell a story, she was at least going to tell it right.

"I saw Missouri."

"You did? Wasn't she like, your part time mentor or something like that?" Colin asked, suddenly intrigued as to where this conversation was going. He loved his sister with all his heart, and if she was having strange dreams about her old friend, then maybe something big was going on and he could help.

"Yeah, she was." Tara nodded affirmatively while biting down on her lip nervously. How could she explain what she felt? What she saw? "But there was something different about her. She seemed, I don't know, darker somehow."

"You saw that?"

"It was more what I could feel than what I saw."

"And what did you feel?"

That was one thing she loved about Colin. He never questioned her or made her feel like some freak with insane claims of 'feeling' things. He was always willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"I felt evil." Tara said quietly. "Just pure, dark, unadulterated evil."

"Anything else?" Colin leaned back, letting what his sister was saying sink in.

"Desperation, hatred, sorrow. . ." Tara trailed off, the overwhelming tide of those emotions washing over her once again. "But I couldn't tell which one of them all those feelings were coming from."

"There was another person?"

"Yeah. A guy."

"Sounds like deep stuff." Colin observed. "Was everything clear? Could you tell me who you were dreaming about if you tried?" He knew that sometimes things were more fuzzy in the mind and trying to recreate them later could be harder then it sounded.

"I'm pretty sure I remember a name." She cocked her head to the side before nodding. "Sam- Samuel. . . something like that."

Colin sat up again and frowned. "Could you describe him?"

Tara raised her own eyebrows. "Somebody you know?"

"Maybe."

"Well, he looked like if stood up that he would be tall. Like, really tall. Six feet at least." She tried to concentrate on the details. "He had dark brown, chocolate hair, shag cut. . . He also had really sad eyes. You know, the kind that when you look at them you think of a puppy. Oh, and he had this tattoo of a fire ring around his wrist."

There was a brief silence as the two wandered around in their own thoughts, before:

"Hey sis?"

"Mm-hm?"

"You remember when Dean was here about Danielle?"

"Sure I do." Tara rolled over to face her brother. "We decided that he should go see. . . Missouri." She said it cautiously, now a little worried at the decision they made after the dream she had. Maybe she should call him.

"Well, you didn't know this, 'cause he ran out of the house before you came out, but Dean was with his brother." Colin said slowly, a little worried himself at this new turn of events. "His name was Sam, and he's pretty much exactly what you described. I didn't know he had a tattoo the first couple times I met him, but I think he was trying to cover it up, because when he was over here I could see a faint outline of flames around his right wrist. . ."

"Oh God." Tara breathed out. "Colin, get my keys."

Colin watched with anxiety as Tara jumped from the bed, grabbed a change of clothes, and ran to her bathroom. He searched her room for the chain of elusive keys and gave a shout of triumph when he found them behind her dresser, quickly grabbing them before running to stand outside the door. "Why do you need your keys?"

"Because," She yelled out. "We're going on a road trip."

"We?"

"You got it little brother." Tara said as she came out, dressed in her favorite jeans and a black t-shirt, not even bothering to try and do something with her already messed up hair. "Hurry and get dressed. We've got a Winchester to catch."

-SUPERNATURAL-

9:00am

Dean was bored.

Bored with a capitol 'B', 'O', 'R', 'E', and 'D'.

Both him and his doppelgänger, newly named 'John', had been driving for the last two and a half hours and neither of them had spoken in any of that time. Dean whistled for one minute, twiddled his thumbs for two, and worried about Sam for the other one-hundred seventeen. Finally he couldn't take the silence and looked over at John with a questioning gaze.

"How is it you know where we're going again?" He knew John had told him earlier, but his head was still spinning from the week and he hadn't really been paying attention.

John slumped his shoulders in an irritated fashion and rolled his eyes. "I can tell you're not usually in the passenger seat." He switched lanes on the highway and continued. "G.P.S. tracking device. Placed one of the suckers under the tail pipe of one of the Fed's cars."

"Oh, right." Dean nodded and drummed his fingers on the dashboard for ten seconds before speaking again, "So how long till we get there?"

"Oh for God's sake. At least two more hours. Two. More. Hours."

"Alright," Dean raised his hands up in defense. "No need to get snappy, Blackbeard."

Now it was John's turn to give Dean the quizzical eye.

"You know. . . The pirate?" Dean explained. "Made sense with you having an eyepatch and all. . ." He stopped speaking at John's incredulous glare.

"Blackbeard? Seriously?"

"Just trying it out."

"Well stop."

-SUPERNATURAL-

9:30am

Minutes ticked by in painful agony to the hunter as he stared at the single clock on the wall across from him.

_Tick. . ._

_Tick_. . .

_Tick. . ._

Finally, he gave up on thinking altogether and laid back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling tiles with less than mild interest, until he blurted out the question that he had been waiting to ask all morning.

"Who's Tara?"

Samuel froze in place on his bed. "What do you know about Tara?" He asked suspiciously.

Sam was taken back by the hostile tone his double had just taken on and thought carefully on how much he should tell. "I, uh, I had some sort of vision thing- about her." His words were stumbled but by the widening of Samuel's eyes, he still hit a deep nerve.

"What kind of vision?" Samuel asked.

"It was a little different from the normal ones." Sam thought back, trying to fight the haze that normally sets in your memory. "It seemed like I was really there. I mean, I was sitting there and she was talking to me, but none of what she was saying made sense- Like I was someone else."

"So you thought you were me."

"Was I?"

"Depends." Samuel said quietly; guardedly. "What happened? Where were you?"

_Sam cursed himself for sounding so sluggish, but he couldn't help it. He felt so tired. . . Squinting his eyes back open, Sam took a look at his surroundings and blinked slowly. He didn't recognize anything about this place. He was in a dark alley; that much he knew, but how the hell he got here was beyond him. _

"I was in an alley." Sam closed his eyes to focus harder, trying to once again bring those surroundings to life. Had his eyes been open, he would have noticed Samuel shifting feet nervously.

_Gorgeous blue eyes, contrasted by her short, choppily cut, nearly black hair and thick eyelashes blinked down at him in concern. "Who. . . who are you?"_

"She was pretty." Sam observed, eyes still shut tight. "Blue eyes. . ."

Samuel swallowed a decent sized lump down his throat.

"_Sam, you were in a fight, don't you remember?" Another shake of the head. Tara bit the inside of her lip and tugged unconsciously at one of the multiple earrings looping around her ears. _

"You were just in a fight. She was really worried about you. . ."

"_The Blood. The big badass gang of this side of town. You should know better then to come over here without team backup. You should have at least gotten Jay to go with you. But you always were such a showoff. . ." _

"Something about a gang- The Blood. Does that sound familiar to you at all?"

"Um, yeah. I know The Blood." Samuel said bitterly.

_The moment was short lived though, as the sound of approaching footsteps and laughing voices neared them, and Tara instantly stiffened. "Shit." she swore quietly under her breathe. "Shit, shit, shit. Their here." Her voice was laced with anger, but what Sam noticed most was the underlaying dread and fear not only in her words but in her eyes, screaming out in unrestrained panic. Sam had no idea who these people were that were getting closer, but he figured that they definitely weren't good news._

_Tara looked around quickly and spotted a small exit to the side of them; a leading way out of the alley. "Alright Sam, we have to go." Her voice was lowered down to a whisper as she carefully removed Sam's head off her lap and wrapped her arms around his upper chest for balance as she helped him up. Naturally that would be when his leg decided to announce the fact that it was broken. . ._

"_Argh." Sam bit down on his bottom lip to keep from crying out loud as the pain traveled up and down his leg. It was as if someone had just set fire to his veins. He looked down and swore under his breath as he saw his left leg twisted in an awkward angle. 'Shit! Where the hell is Dean?'_

"_Sam!" Tara's voice was harsh and barely audible as her face was scrunched up in a more emotional pain, from the turn of events. "We have to move. . . now."_

"_Well, well. What have we here?" The deep male voice drew out the question lazily, letting the effects settle for a moment before snickering in sick glee. He was quickly backed up by a number of other voices who decided to join in the fun. "A couple of Firebrands?" He gave another chuckle of pleasure. "And what would you two be doing on this side of the tracks, all by your lonesome?"_

_It wasn't until Tara was forcefully pulled away from him that Sam realized how much of his weight she had actually been holding. Stars were flashing before his eyes, as he crumpled heavily to the ground, crying out in pain as his leg again protested against any movement he might make. Why couldn't he concentrate? Everything was moving so slowly. . ._

"_Sam!" Tara's voice cut through the night as he turned to see her being dragged away by the group. "Sam help! Get off of me you Bloodsucker!"_

_He attempted to blink away the haze that was building up behind his eyes, but couldn't shake away the fog. His leg kept him anchored to the ground no matter how hard he tried to stand; or even crawl for that matter. "Tara!"_

"And that's it." Sam said, finally opening his eyes, blinking quickly to adjust to the room's lighting once again. "That's all I saw."

"You saw that?" Samuel whispered.

Sam couldn't be sure, but he would swear that he felt a sudden shift in the double's composure- something darker; angrier.

Sam was about to open his mouth but was cut off by a shrill crackling sound coming from a recently spotted speaker next to the security camera, hanging from a corner on the ceiling, followed by an equally warbling voice.

"_Sam."_

Both Sam and Samuel lifted their heads and looked at the camera.

"_Uh," _The voice wavered momentarily before it tried again. _"Sam Winchester."_

The two looked at each other before once again meeting the gaze of the camera lens, though with a little more annoyance than before.

"_Samuel Winchester, son of John Winchester, brother to Dean Winchester."_ The voice spoke again in a slightly smug voice, as if he had finally found a way to distinguish the two of them.

"Oh for God's sake." Samuel rolled his eyes and glared at the camera. "We got the point." He pointed his finger between himself and Sam three times. "We're both Samuel Winchester."

"_Uh. . ."_

Samuel didn't let the voice finish. "We're both Sam Winchester, son of John Winchester, younger brother to Dean Winchester. We also are 6' 4", both Taurus', enjoy long walks on the beach and dated Jessica Moore at one point or other in our life."

Sam blanched at the last statement, staring with shock at his doppelgänger. _Jessica? He. . . dated Jessica?_

"_I, um-"_ The voice stumbled until finally they heard a _'Gimme that'_ and a new, only slightly deeper voice crackled over the speakers.

"_Hey Sam, how's it going down there? Because, if you're feeling claustrophobic or trapped at all, we could do something about it. I mean, I know how freaked you were when you were locked inside the bank safe, am I right?"_

Sam tried not to let himself be bated into showing a reaction. As long as they couldn't tell the two of them apart, they had the upper hand.

"_But you tried to put on a brave face, didn't you? Didn't want Dean to know. So you stood there, letting the others call your brother a hero while you were placed with the rest of the civilians. And I know when the man started to have the stroke, you wanted nothing more then to carry him out of there, anything to get out of the suffocating vault your own brother locked you in. . ."_

Sam could hear the blood rushing past his ears, both anger and fear boiling up inside him. How did this man know all that stuff about him? And as quickly as the answer eluded him, it came running back.

"Hendrickson."

"_Bingo."_ The voice laughed and Sam knew why. It wasn't because he managed to figure out who was behind the speaker, but because Hendrickson now knew who he was. . . _"Well Sammy, it looks like we really need to talk."_

As soon as the words were said, three men in security guard uniforms burst in and two grabbed Sam by shoulders while the other stood, ready to be of help if Sam decided to put up a fight. Which he did.

"Get the hell off of me." He struggled against their firm grasp but already knew that it was a futile effort. It had been a couple hours since he woke up that morning and the drugs were still wearing off, leaving him tired and a little bit groggy. He turned his head, curious as to what Samuel was doing to help him and was surprised to see that the doppelgänger was sitting, cross legged on his bed, and. . . smiling.

Smiling?

Sam was being dragged out of the holding room and when the guards turned their heads to lead him and close the door, Samuel lifted his hand in a gesture that could not be mistaken for any other movement than a wave goodbye.

_See ya sucker. . ._

-SUPERNATURAL-

9:45am

The room was dark, and for a minute there was no sound except for Sam's shallow breathing.

Hendrickson watched the screen for several minutes, waiting to see the youngest Winchester's reaction to his surroundings. First, Sam just sat there unmoving, unblinking. Then Hendrickson peered closer to the tv glass and smiled.

Sam's hands were shaking.

'Good.'

Hendrickson wouldn't describe himself as a cruel being, but unless he had 'to the letter' instructions, his methods weren't exactly orthodox. As it was, he had made sure that Sam was placed in the darkest, smallest, most closed in room he could find for questioning. Anything to make this job easier. Criminals were always more likely to tell the truth when stuck in a environment that makes them uncomfortable.

Fear. Fear was how he wanted to rule this case. He knew how this family worked, and playing good cop- bad cop wasn't going to cut it. There was only one bad cop and that cop was him.

He waited only a few more seconds before leaving his own private stake-out and walking down the hall to his interrogation room.

If Sam was already shaking, then it was time to strike.

"I don't know if this is a good idea." A voice next to him said quietly. It was Jim.

"And I don't think you should be sticking your nose into my business." Victor replied.

"This just doesn't feel right man." Jim tried again. "Can't you feel it? Some things just aren't adding up."

"The only thing not adding up is your attitude about this." Hendrickson said, annoyed. "Since when have you thought it was bad idea to take criminals in and bring them to justice? Daniel told me you were being hesitant when you went out to the hospital, but I thought he was just being paranoid. Tell me Jim. What is it about these guys that has you acting like you don't know what side your on?"

"I know what side I'm on." Jim argued.

"And that would be?"

"The right one."

-SUPERNATURAL-

9:45am

Sam couldn't help the small yelp of surprise when he was roughly shoved into the hard wooden chair and handcuffed to the metal bar protruding from the table in front of him. His wrists rubbed against the silvery metal of the cuffs and he hissed in pain when the sharp end of the guard's golden badge sliced past his cheek. Not as bad as his past injuries, but painful none the less.

The guards didn't even look back as they left, leaving him alone in the dark room. What he wouldn't give for a paperclip right about now. . .

The room was dark, and for several minutes there was not a sound to focus on except for his own shallow breathing. He knew Hendrickson had planned it this way. Hell, from the way Dean told it, this Victor guy knew everything about them, including pieces of their childhood and how they were raised. He had never met the man in person though and that was obviously a disadvantage on his part.

He called upon the Winchester courage and sat there, keeping absolutely still. If this FBI agent knew so much about him, then he should know already that he wasn't going to talk, nor would he show any kinds of weakness; fear.

But though he was willing, his body and mind were not. His thoughts drifted back to the last time he saw Dean.

They had come back from the lake and his brother had gone to take a shower while he searched the internet for any more information he could find on Danielle's murder. He had really wanted to check out the warehouse she was murdered at to find some clues, but the next day he woke up with the mother of all colds, he was pretty sure, and that mirror thing had him thinking he was crazy. Pretty much put a damper on those plans. . .

But the last time he remembered seeing and speaking to his brother was after the two different 'vision' things he had before and in the library.

Dean had offered to help him get to the bathroom and he refused. Sam regretted that now. How different would things be now if he had just swallowed his pride and let Dean take him to the bathroom?

Well, assuming he put stock into what the mirror guy said, one of his 'selves' was finding out. . .

His stupid, freakin' pride.

Looking down, Sam realized his hands were shaking.

"Shit." He swore angrily.

He tried as hard as he could, but his body refused to listen and continued to shake violently.

Not a minute later and the door swung open silently on it's hinges, revealing only a shadowy figure blocking the light from the outside.

"Hendrickson?"

"Sam," The black man acknowledged. "I was worried you weren't going to wake up today. In fact. . ." He paused for a moment before shutting the door and sitting in the chair across from him, his hands folding together in a thoughtfully curious expression. "In fact, you shouldn't even be able to walk yet."

"Can't say I actually walked in here." Sam snorted, referring to the guards half dragging him down the hall.

"We needed to be sure you weren't going to try and run again." Victor said.

"You thought I was practically crippled and you still figured I could make a run for it?" Sam was stuck between the feeling of disgust at his captor's process of thinking and a certain amount of pride for how capable they thought he was.

"You shouldn't have even been able to stand," Hendrickson frowned. "Yet there you were in your room, pacing around like you hadn't been stabbed in the gut followed by how many ripped stitches?. . . Want to try and explain that?"

"Uh, yeah. I don't think so." Sam said.

"You don't have a choice."

"Sure I do. See, here I am not explaining-"

If that little voice in Sam's head- the one who always warns you when you're doing something stupid- could have become corporeal, he would have beat Sam over the head with a very large dictionary for his idiocy. As it was, that voice made damn well sure that he felt bad for it after the fact. . .

Hendrickson stood angrily from his seat and stalked over to where the Winchester was cuffed and, despite Sam's struggles, grabbed onto the boy's shirt. "You're being pretty high and mighty for a guy with a hole in his side-"

Victor stopped in mid-sentence after he lifted Sam's shirt high enough to reveal what he thought was going to be a gruesome looking wound and saw instead, only a thin white scar. "What the hell?"

Sam finally managed to twist his way out of the agent's grasp but realized he was in even more trouble than before. He knew that chances were, Hendrickson had already seen the wound while he was unconscious and as bothersome as this thought truly was, that wasn't the part that worried him.

Victor had seen the injury; the stitches and dried blood. And bets were he saw those things just the day before. No way would any normal person heal that fast, and even worse: Sam had no explanation for why he could. . .

-SUPERNATURAL-

9:50am

Hendrickson's blood had begun to boil- and he had only been in the room with Sam for a minute. What was it about this family that just made his skin itch?

"You don't have a choice." He replied matter of factly. He thought that it was Dean who was smart-ass, but apparently Sam here snuck a page out of the book and sticking to it faithfully.

"Sure I do." Sam even managed to conjure up a smirk that made Victor want to jump out of seat and strangle the kid. "See, here I am not explaining-"

That was it. He'd had it.

Pushing his seat back, he stalked over to the cuffed Winchester and tugged at the bottom of his shirt, though it was hard to get a good grip when the prisoner was trying to twist away from him. "You sure seem to be pretty high and mighty for a guy with a hole in his side-"

He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw what was beneath the shirt: Nothing. Nothing but a thin, white scar in exactly the same spot as where he had been stabbed not two days ago. "What the hell?"

His hands suddenly went numb and he felt Sam finally jerk out of his grasp. This was all too confusing. He must have the wrong guy. . . It must be the other Sam he wanted. But this was the one who knew about the bank incident. Did they plan it this way? Why was there another Sam to begin with? What the hell was going on?!

He saw that Sam had almost the same worried, confused expression he had. Except that the kid also had something else. . . Fear.

"I'll give you a minute to think your answers through." Hendrickson said gruffly before turning on his heel, forcing himself not to run out of there, shutting the door with an echoing click- leaving Sam Winchester once again alone in the dark room.

-SUPERNATURAL-

10:00am

"Rise and shine Sleeping Beauty."

Samuel groaned with frustration. If it wasn't enough that his bed felt as hard as nails and that he felt like he was being poked with every single one those nails, an annoyingly pushy voice was going to pull him out of his unlikely peaceful sleep. It was probably Sam. He never would have guessed he was so whiny in other dimensions. . .

"Sam, leave me the hell alone."

"Sorry to disappoint." The voice spoke again. "On both accounts."

'What the hell?' Samuel asked himself, daring to open one eye. He wished he hadn't.

Hovering right above him was a face he had hoped he would never see again. "Victor?"

When he heard Sam say 'Hendrickson' earlier- before getting dragged out of here- he thought he misheard him. But sure enough, there he was.

"I'm sure you have all kinds of questions." Hendrickson continued, without waiting for the Winchester to say anything more. "But I'm a little more interested in what kind of answers you can give me."

It had only taken a few minutes to get Samuel moved to another interrogation room and cuffed to the table, and in no time at all, both agent and doppelgänger were sitting across a table, staring at each other with an equally scrutinizing gaze.

"So," Samuel raised an eyebrow. "FBI huh? Never would have guessed. I'm impressed though."

Hendrickson frowned at the tone of familiarity Sam was using. He didn't think any of the Winchester's knew about him, minus Dean of whom he talked with at the bank. But even then, Dean didn't actually _know_ him.

"Must admit," Samuel continued. "When I heard Sam say your name, I didn't believe him, thought he was talking about another Hendrickson, but here you are. I probably shouldn't be all that surprised, considering our history and yet. . ." Samuel trailed off and gave an infuriating grin, shaking his head with disbelief.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Victor didn't like the way this was going. This Sam was really getting on his nerves and though he didn't want to admit it, he scared him. Something about his eyes seemed. . . unnatural.

"Eh, you haven't changed at all, have you Vicky?" Samuel chuckled merrily, as if he knew a deliciously funny secret he had no intention of sharing.

"How about you stop talking crazy, and you start answering questions." Victor growled.

"You want answers?" Samuel asked, his voice and tone pretty much doing a 180 in timbre. He suddenly seemed so much darker than before, and Hendrickson was glad that he checked the cuffs before putting them on this guy. "I can give you all the answers you possibly want, but see I haven't been given any reason why I should."

Hendrickson thought about what he said for a moment, stunned. He would talk? Sam would tell him what he wanted to know? This all seemed too easy. . . or was it? "I think we can make a deal."

"What kind of deal?" Samuel asked suspiciously.

He didn't have to think about it. "How about your freedom in exchange for the location and capture of Dean Winchester." Hendrickson knew it was gamble. The Winchester clan had always acted very family oriented, and the idea that one would betray another almost seemed ludicrous.

Samuel cocked his head to side and gave a grin that sent a shiver down the FBI agent's back.

"Deal."

-SUPERNATURAL-

A/N1: Yes friends, Samuel has finally picked a side and unlike our Jim fellow, he seems to have picked the wrong one. Why did I make him do that? Well, before I finished writing this chapter, I decided to go back and read my story over again and I discovered two things:

a) It is really freaking long

b) Samuel was an awesome bad guy

So there you have it. Samuel is now officially _evil_. Please tell me if you're either thrilled at this turn of events or disappointed. Maybe you thought Eyepatch!Dean would have made a better bad guy. . . Well, his fate isn't written in stone yet. The Dark Side calls to all; we just don't know if he'll pick up the phone and answer.

A/N2: Okay, here's the dealio. Now that the new season has started with three new episodes I know that I or possibly you will want to say something about it but I also know that there are some people who haven't seen them yet that might read this story. So if I or you would like to say anything involving season three Supernatural episodes, if you could please write 'SPOILER' in caps before, it would be wonderful. Thank you in advance.

A/N3: **SPOILER!!!** (Couldn't resist) Can I just say that 'Bad Day At Black Rock' is by far the funniest episode I have ever seen! I mean, come'on. A lucky rabbit's foot that in the end isn't so lucky? And who could resist wanting to hug Sam when he lost his shoe? Or when the motel caught fire? goes to buy episode on iTunes Hope everybody enjoyed that episode as much as I did. **SPOILER OVER!!!**

Please send a review my way, even if it's to tell me that you hate how long it took me to post and you're done reading this annoying story. Of course happy reviews are great too. In fact, they are encouraged. Thank you all so much for reading.

Your 'I am Batman!' writer friend - Kerri B.


	21. Chapter 20

1**Beginning Note:** Hey everybody! Kerri here with a chapter for dinner and a warning for dessert. Let's start with dessert first though, okay? Colby's Girl's review reminded me that I never explained how Sam had disappeared from his crib, or who Liz really was. So in this chapter you will get your answer. Depending on how much you all remember from the first couple chapters, you may want to go back and read chapter two before reading this one.

Now back to regular rambling notes: Everybody, your reviews were so much appreciated for last chapter and chapter 18. Because of my severe lack of internet and time to be on it, I never got a chance to reply to those wonderful chapter 18 reviews. I know it's a little late but I want to do it now:

**Goddess972:**_ Thank you so much for your positive review! I'm always glad to see more and more people are enjoying this story. Your compliments made me smile every time I read them. They really encouraged me and were the perfect cure to a deflated ego. Hope to 'see' you around here more often. Don't be a stranger. - Kerri_

**Adara-chan:**_ I must say you are very right. Victor will always be a villain in my head. A necessary evil at times, but I enjoy writing for him. How weird is that? Anyway, I have to admit that my inspiration for the idea of Sam's powers came from me trying to figure out how Jake didn't somehow smash our boy's face in when they were fighting. So, being a bit of a super hero type nerd, I was struck by inspiration while watching 'Heroes' and 'X-Men'. I hope your curiosity has been sated. Lol - Kerri _

**psiChic:** _Ahh, Scruffy!Sams. . . joins the ogling Haha, I adored your real time review and thought your comment on Dean being Sammy's mommy was perfect! I'm so glad you are intrigued by the Doppel's back story, but now I'm nervous that I'm going to let you down, and it'll be lame. . . (oh the drama) Anywho, one of these days you will discover the origin of tattoo, and why it sometimes flames up like it does. Hopefully I'll be able to explain it before you don't care anymore. . . - Kerri _

Thank you everybody for your support. Your reviews continue to validate and inspire my writing. Without you guys, I would just be some lame girl who writes weird stories for herself and her thousands of tabby cats. . .

Luv You All - Kerri

Chapter Twenty: Skeptics and Believers

Friday at 11:00am

It was one hour after Samuel agreed to the deal and Hendrickson was busy running around the department to tie up the last loose ends of the case. According to Sam, Dean would be in their custody in less than an hour and Victor didn't want to leave anything to chance. He was so excited and busy in fact that Jim had no problem finishing a little investigation of his own.

After the fruitless argument with the black agent earlier, Jim decided he better do his research if he wanted to make any headway with his co-workers. For the last hour he remained locked in his office, sifting through papers, reports, and even pages online. The only other person who knew about his enquiry's was Debby, the receptionist, and it was only because she helped pull up the hard to get files for him.

"I'll be damned." The seasoned agent whistled under his breath. He hadn't realized how many cases against the Winchester's had holes in them till now. St. Louis, Colorado, Michigan, Palo Alto. . . it seemed that wherever they went there were equal amounts of people claiming the brother's innocence than their guilt. The problem with these reports though was that the witnesses never could explain why the boys weren't guilty. They fumbled, stumbled and mumbled through their accounts, but they all seemed strong in their resolve that the Winchester's were the best thing to ever happen to them. That they owed them their lives.

He would have looked at the reports longer, but with Samuel on the FBI's side, he knew he didn't have much time left. Quickly, he gathered up as many papers and photos as he could and left his office, passing the lobby and waving to Debby on his way to the rooms built for questioning. He was pretty sure in all the chaos of the deal and Dean, that Hendrickson had completely forgotten about the other Sam sitting alone in one of those rooms. He was right.

-SUPERNATURAL-

11:00am

Was it strange that both the room and the cuffs seemed to be shrinking with each passing minute? Sam lay his head defeated on the table before quickly jerking back to a sitting position when the motion of leaning forward rubbed away yet another portion of skin from his reddening wrists.

This little charade had gone on for the last hour and Sam was pretty sure that the metal handcuffs had to have drawn blood by now.

The first few minutes after Hendrickson's departure left Sam worried. The next few minutes made him nervous. The rest of the time the young brunet was just plain bored. Surely there would be people here by now. Which left him with yet another worrying thought.

What could have happened to make the entire FBI force forget about him?

No sooner had that thought left his subconscious and become a serious question, then the unmistakable sound of clicking shoes walking down the hallway started echoing around the enclosed space. Shoes that were heading his direction. Only a few seconds later and the door to his room opened with a nail biting shriek.

Light poured into the uncommonly darkened room and Sam flinched when it hit his eyes head on.

"Sorry." A voice said apologetically and quickly shut the door behind him returning the room back to being dark and dreary. "I would have got the lights turned up higher but I figure your eyes have probably already adjusted."

"Yea me." Sam said dryly. Really dryly; his throat was parched.

"Hey, want some water?" The man asked suddenly. "You don't sound all that great."

"Best freakin' day of my life." Sam grumbled, but was surprised when the man pushed forward a half full glass of water towards. 'Look at me, being all optimistic.' He jiggled his hands gingerly and flinched when the cuffs rattled and cut into his wrist. "Yeah, man, that didn't really help." He nodded his head towards the glass and then down to the handcuffs.

The man followed his nods and his mouth formed an 'o' when it dawned on him. Quickly, he walked around the table, picked up the water-filled cup and raised it to Sam's lips.

Sam was about to take a sip when he stopped and looked at the water suspiciously.

"The water's clean." The man said. "Nothing in there that shouldn't be."

"And that's reassuring." Sam snarked.

"I'm not trying to trick you." The man said softly. "I'm trying to help you."

"Well now I'm convinced." Sam sarcastically retorted. "You can take your water back."

The man stood there for a moment longer before nodding his head and placing the glass back on the table and resuming his place on the opposite side of the Winchester. Sam regretted that decision almost immediately. His mouth was completely dry and his tongue felt like a giant cotton ball.

"So you're Sam?"

"What gave it away?"

"I was part of the team who brought you and the other. . . uh, Sam from the hospital."

"And you are?"

"Name's Jim."

"Well Jim." Sam said slowly. "You said you wanted to help me."

"I do." Jim said seriously.

"I have three questions then: Why? How? And: What's the catch?"

Jim scratched his chin thoughtfully and gave a small smile. "Because I think you're innocent, I'm working on it, and the only catch is that you need to convince me as to why I think I should help you get out of here. Sound good to you?"

Sam blew a few stray strands of hair out of his face and stared intently at the agent before him. Should he trust him? Could he afford not to? As it was, things already seemed to be turning backwards on him. The last time he saw Samuel was when he was dragged out of the room and the doppelgänger didn't seem the least bit worried. In fact, he seemed almost. . . gleeful? Excited? As if everything he ever thought was going to happen did.

Something wasn't right about his other self. Something darker, more subtle, like a chess player distracting his opponents so they wouldn't see what he was really doing.

"Sam?"

Sam jerked his head up and realized he had zoned out into his thoughts. "Right. So my options are to either trust you or stay here and wait for Hendrickson to come back?"

"Pretty much." Jim conceded amicably.

"Then I don't really have a choice do I?" Sam said tightly.

"I didn't really think about it, but I guess not."

Sam sighed and shook his head in what could have been interpreted as defeat. "Alright then. What do you want to know?"

Jim sat quietly, trying to take in what the young man was saying to him. It seemed so ridicules and yet everything was just starting to make sense.

Sam continued to stare at him from across the table, waiting for the reaction people like him always gave.

"So," Jim started slowly. "You're telling me that you hunt. . . things."

Sam nodded.

"And not deer and pheasants sort of things either, but ghosts, ghouls, spirits, and evil creatures."

"Yeah, pretty much. The MO changes a lot but that pretty much covers the gist of it."

"And that's why every witness's account was incomplete. That's why they couldn't explain why you were innocent."

Sam licked his probably parched lips and nodded again. "I didn't know you talked to people we helped, but I guess."

"Helped? You mean with supernatural type problems?" Jim sounded distressed. He knew this was a strange case, but he still hadn't expected what Sam was telling him.

"I know it sounds crazy." Sam agreed. "But it's true. And I'll bet if you look back at past cases of yours- unsolved ones- that these things are what caused the problems. Werewolves, poltergeists, demons- they all exist and Dean and I, well we stop them."

"You hunt them."

"Yeah."

Jim scrubbed aimlessly at his beard and sighed. He believed him. All the things Sam said to him. . . it explained so much; so many inconsistencies in his life and job. So now how could he try to convince his friends the same thing without coming across like a paranoid loon. "I believe you kid."

Sam blinked blankly at him. "You do?"

"I do." Jim reiterated. "And I'm going to help you."

Sam's eyes visibly brightened and he straightened in his chair, wincing as the cuffs once again dug into his now sensitive flesh. "You're going to help me get out of here?"

"That's what I said. But here's one final question for you: If you're Sam, then who in all the Hell's is outside, helping Hendrickson prepare for the capture of your brother?"

"What?" Sam paled.

"The other Sam guy. The smart ass with the tat. He made a deal with Victor. Dean's capture for his freedom."

For a moment there was only silence. Then: "That sonofabitch." Sam swore under his breath. "That Son. Of. A. Bitch!" He yelled a little louder, kicking the bottom of the metal table with toes of his boot.

"I take it he's not a friend of yours."

"I guess not." Sam growled. "You've got to get me out of here. I've got to find Dean; have to warn him before that freak gets to him."

"Who is he exactly?" Jim asked again.

"Would you believe me if I told you he was my doppelgänger?"

Jim stared at him before quirking his eyes with confusion. "Doppelgänger?"

"Let's just say he's my evil twin. It's more believable that way."

"You are one strange kid, you know that?" Jim said in awe.

"Yeah," Sam agreed with a sigh. "I know."

Jim had just stood up, key in hand, ready to unlock the bothersome handcuffs when the there was a screech and the door swung open, revealing a single man staring at the two of them in shock. "Jim? What the hell are you doing?"

"Daniel." Jim's eyes widened. He was busted and he knew it. This was Hendrickson's partner, and even though he knew in his heart he was right, there was no way he could prove it to anybody else. . . "I uh, I was just getting ready to move him back to his holding room. No point keeping him locked up in here when Dean's going to show up any minute now."

He stressed the 'any minute now' hoping that Sam would catch the urgency he was feeling. They couldn't afford to lose time now.

Daniel frowned and looked around as if he thought he would see somebody else. "You okay Jim? Victor asked me to take Sam back to his room, and you're not looking real good. You feeling sick?"

"No." Jim lied. "I just want to hurry this up. You know if we're not there when Dean's taken captive, Vic's going to take all the credit."

"Probably." Daniel admitted. He stared at Sam carefully. "Have you two been talking?"

Sam looked over to Jim and Jim tapped his finger on the table. "I was just filling our little friend here on what was going on. I thought maybe he would want to change his mind and be a part of the deal Hendrickson laid out. Turns out he's stubborn as a frickin' mule. Family loyalty is bitch huh?"

"Jim." Daniel said quietly. "I saw you on the video camera. I heard every word you said and," He paused. "I heard every word _he_ said."

Sam swallowed the growing lump in his throat and nearly yelped when the silver key was subtly thrown in his lap. Carefully he manipulated his hands to pick it up and started to work furiously on getting the cuffs open and off his wrists.

"Daniel, I can explain-"

"Explain? You're talking treason man! This kid is a criminal and you're going to believe that he hunts vampires and shit? Have you lost your freaking mind?" Daniel still stood in the door, blocking the only path to escape.

"But he's right Dan. You've seen as many strange things as I have, why is it so hard to believe that things like that exist? Why not vampires? Why not werewolves?"

"You really have gone crazy." Daniel breathed. "Jim I thought maybe you were just misguided about what he said but you really believe him, don't you?"

Jim hung his head before nodding. "Yeah, I really do."

"Then we've got a problem. You know I have to report you."

Jim nodded. "I know. And you should know then that I have to do this-"

Quickly he jumped across the room and smashed the small glass of water into the side of his friend's head, letting the shattered glass fall to the floor but catching Daniel before he did. Carefully he carried the unconscious agent and sat him in the chair he previously sat in.

Sam heard the satisfying click of the lock giving way and he pulled his hands free, rubbing his wrists tenderly.

"We've got to get out of here." Jim started to run out of the room, Sam right on his heels.

"You said Dean was going to be here any minute. Is that true?"

"He could be here right now for all I know. And the entire station is looking for him." Jim said grimly.

Sam furrowed his brows and gave a determined growl. "Then I guess we have to find him first."

-SUPERNATURAL-

11:45am

Dean woke up to a hand shaking his shoulder.

"Hey, man, get up."

"Sam, go away. . ." He muttered quietly.

"Dude, wake the hell up!" The voice yelled this time. "This ain't no freaking breakfast call."

Dean's eyes flew open and slowly focused on the single figure standing over him. John. Wait, he fell asleep? How did he manage that? "I fell asleep?"

"And how." John muttered, pushing his door open and stepping out of the truck with a grunt. "You think they would have a cure for sleep talkers by now."

"They do." Dean dead panned. "They're called earplugs. And I don't talk in my sleep."

"Puleeze. I don't know who you've been bunking with, but chances are he doesn't get a wink of sleep between your inner reminiscing and tendency to drool."

Dean rolled his eyes in annoyance. "You're just pissed that I got to rest while you were stuck driving."

"Well this is your rescue mission." John didn't argue the accusation. "Anyway, I thought you should know we made it."

"What?" Dean instantly shot up from his actually uncomfortable position in the truck and jumped out to join his irritated doppelgänger. "We made it? Sam's here?"

"He better be because I'm not driving all over the freaking state to find him."

"Where are we anyway?"

"Washington D.C. Where else?"

Dean's jaw dropped. "How fast were you driving?"

"I have my ways." John said with a smirk, dismissing the question. "Now, you better take a good look at the scenery 'cause depending on how this sting goes you might not see daylight ever again."

"What makes you say that?"

"The FBI just took your brother. I don't think an attempt at rescue is exactly a get out jail free card."

"Good point." Dean agreed, running through a quick mental list in his head of all their weapons. "So what's the game plan?"

"Why would I have a game plan?" John placed a small silver dagger in his own ankle holster.

Dean stopped at that. There was no plan. This was definitely new for him, and he didn't like it. Sam was always the one who insisted they have a plan, and it was Dean's job to say screw the plan and wing it instead. But they always - mark that - always had a plan. Sam's plan. . .

"I guess I should have a plan then." Dean said weakly.

"Damn straight. This is a rescue mission, not suicide." John pointed out but when Dean turned away in thought, his expression softened and became one of worry. Ignoring all the voices ringing out in his head, the eye patched double stepped forward and placed a single hand on Dean's shoulder. "Hey, it's gonna be okay. We're going to get your brother back. You can still save Sam."

"Yeah, I know." Dean said softly, facing John once again. "But what if I can't?"

John stopped and set his eye downcast. "If you can't save Sammy,"

Dean noticed immediately that he called his brother 'Sammy' instead of Sam or Samuel.

"If you can't save him," John started again, voice quivering. "Then you'll have no reason to live. You're brother leaving you only a memory of his former self. You'll walk on for years, never knowing what to do because the one thing- the only thing you had in your life worth living for is gone. . . It'll be hell, and like Hell itself, there is no reprieve; no escape, and above all, no way to redeem yourself."

Dean suddenly realized that John was no longer talking about him and Sammy, but about himself and his own brother. The other Sam.

And just as quickly as John had offered comfort and spoke despair, his face cleared and a bright smile replaced the worried frown. "So I guess we need to save him then, eh?" His voice was on the creepy side of cheery and if Dean hadn't just witnessed that small window of weakness in his own eyes, he might have believed it.

"I guess we do." Dean agreed.

"And we need a plan." John continued.

At that, Dean grinned. "Nah man. Let's wing it."

John broke out into an identical more genuine grin and nodded his head. "I was hoping you would say that."

-SUPERNATURAL-

**November 2, 1983**

Liz hated her body. Well, _her_ body she loved, but this meatsuit was definitely an annoyance to her. All the restrictions a human body presented were obstacles to be sure, but this mission didn't exactly require all that much movement and for that she was thankful. See, Liz was a demon. An overworked, underpaid, unappreciated demon.

Only two more jobs and she was finally free though. For an entire year she found herself under contract of good old Azazel himself, and she was already tiring of her tedious tasks. But that was how this all went; sucking up to the boss till you get that promotion you've been waiting for. As it was, that crossroad's position had been applied for bythousands of other black-eyed demons, and working for a yellow eyed had its perks. She was sure to get her red eyes if she didn't screw up this job.

Which brought her back to the present. The job. For the last year she had gone around from state to state, city to city, watching the certain families assigned to her. This one brought her to Kansas, and what a desolate, sinfully boring place it was.

The Winchester family was her assignment, and Samuel was her target. By taking over Liz's body, she managed to play innocent busy body neighbor who just happened to love little baby's. She really did love babies, just not in the way most humans think of.

She had seen the child, even held him in her arms but she still couldn't see what her boss did. He told her that this one was 'special'. Before the kid was born he was already naming this one his favorite of the bunch.

Liz often wondered to herself why he would raise up all these other children if he had already picked the one he wanted, but she kept those thoughts to herself. An underling should never question one of the big dogs. Especially is that dog happened to be a demon of the near highest rank with yellow eyes. He was powerful and she didn't want to be on the wrong side of his wrath.

But back to this Samuel kid.

Apparently he was important. More important than an entire city's souls combined.

But he was just a child. How was he supposed bring triumph for the damned? It boggled the mind of what her boss could be thinking. His plans were often extraordinarily elaborate, and this didn't seem like one of his smaller crusades.

Oh well.

She would do her job, and she would do it well. And when she got that promotion, she would look back at this and laugh at the days when she was just a flunky.

For hours she had been standing out in the cold waiting for her favorite part of this entire gig. The fire. It isn't all that odd that the fire holds a strange attraction to a Hell's citizen. Just like pictures of a beach reminds people of the ocean, it reminds them of home.

But this whole thing was taking unnaturally longer than it should. Maybe she should go in; make sure everything was going smoothly. What could it hurt? Besides, she never had been able to see the anointing process before. It could be a learning experience for her.

Without another thought she looked around to be sure no one was watching, ignored the limitations her body should have and she crouched low, sitting on the balls of her feet before springing up, shooting straight for the child's window. As soon as she reached the sill, she could feel the presence of a struggle going on, but nothing that indicated she was in danger.

Looking closer, peering through the darkness, she saw where the feeling was coming from. A woman, it seemed, had run into the room at the wrong time and was now sliding up the wall of the nursery and onto the ceiling. Mr. Yellow Eyes himself watched her growing fear and horror with his piercing gaze and gave a harsh laugh.

Liz couldn't help it, she gave her own little laugh of delight.

That was when everything went to hell. . . (so not literally)

Azazel jerked his head in her direction, shocked to see that his annoying underling had followed him into the house and to Liz's utter shock, his mental hold over the woman disappeared and she fell to the floor with a terrified scream, the crunching of bones breaking causing Liz to lick her lips even though she understood that she was now on the wrong side of her boss's wrath.

"Mary?" A male voice called from what sounded like the downstairs. Obviously the husband had heard the crash. What the demons hadn't counted on was that the woman was still conscious.

"JOHN!" She screamed out, causing pain to even the black-eyed demon's ears.

The baby began to cry and the sound of John's footsteps running up the stairs could be heard.

"Dammit." Azazel cursed. "Damn you girl." He hissed at Liz. Instantly, the room burst into flame and Mary screamed out, trying to crawl over to her baby's crib but the male demon was back to his senses and held her back with his mind as his hands scooped up the child and shoved it into Liz's arms.

"What-" Liz started but was cut off by the flaring of Azazel's eyes.

"Take the child. Take him to Scandalum's home. You will wait for me there." His voice was low and demanding.

"Yes sir." Liz nodded and quickly turned around to jump from the two story window before Azazel's voice rang out once again.

"And Liz,"

"Yes sir?"

"Don't even think about fucking this up." It was a threat; an unveiled one at that.

Liz swallowed the oversized lump in her throat and nodded yet again. "Yes sir."

And with that she propelled herself from the building, landing gracefully on the large oak tree in the yard across the street. Without looking back to see how her master would finish the job, she fled into the night, taking the whimpering child with her, never seeing the single boy run coughing outside of the Winchester house and catching sight of her and the baby with wide eyes.

-SUPERNATURAL-

A/N1: How's that for a chapter ending? I have to admit, I'm not sure how satisfied I am with how the whole conversation with Sam and Jim went, but I can't find a place to make changes so I guess I'll have to deal. I hope you all enjoyed it. :)

A/N2: Also, the word 'Scandalum' is Latin for 'slander' or 'cause of offence'. I wanted the demons' name to have meaning, so there you go. Lol

I think I'll leave the notes short this week so. . . thank you to everybody who's still reading. Reviews are what help me ace my tests, so help me pass English&Lit.! Write a review!

Your pencil-breaking writer friend - Kerri B.


	22. Chapter 21

1**Beginning Note:** crawls pitifully out from under my rock Hi peeps. (Assuming there are any peeps reading this story left) I come to you waving a white flag and holding the much wanted pages to the next chapter. I feel really bad about not posting for so long, but there were some challenging family issues that had to be dealt with first. I was in no way intentionally procrastinating on this story, I just had no time to write. In an attempt to make up for that blatant oversight, I present you guys with not only a longer chapter here, but also another chapter in a different story of mine. _You Look At Me But You Don't See Me_

And another thing: Since there was such a long wait between last chapter and this one, I can't expect you guys to remember half of what I've written, so I've included a small 'blast from the past' for all the pertinent moments having something to do with this current chapter.

Don't forget that 'John' is now Eyepatch Dean. Also, I have absolutely no idea what the inside (or the outside) of an FBI building looks like. Total guessing and over active imagination at work. Read at your own risk. Ye 'ave been warned.

**Chapter Twenty-One: In The Mousetrap**

**THEN**

"So, what now?" Sam asked quietly. "You said you're here to warn me, but about what? What do I have to avoid? Is Dean in danger? Is that other doppelgänger coming back? How many are out there? What do I have to do?"

The reflection began to get fuzzy and Sam squinted to get a clear view. "Sam, you know what I am, and you understand what is going on. Believe me when I say that your double isn't here without a reason, and that noble obligations are no longer his priority- if they ever were to begin with."

- - -

"What the hell are you talking about?" Victor didn't like the way this was going. Something about this Sam's eyes seemed. . . unnatural.

"Eh, you haven't changed at all, have you Vicky?" Samuel chuckled merrily, as if he knew a deliciously funny secret he had no intention of sharing.

"How about you stop talking crazy, and you start answering questions." Victor growled.

"You want answers?" Samuel asked, his voice and tone pretty much doing a 180 in timbre. He suddenly seemed so much darker than before, and Hendrickson was glad that he checked the cuffs before putting them on this guy. "I can give you all the answers you possibly want, but see I haven't been given any reason I should."

Hendrickson thought about what he said for a moment, stunned. "I think we can make a deal."

"What kind of deal?" Samuel asked suspiciously.

"How about your freedom for the location and capture of Dean Winchester."

Samuel cocked his head to side and gave a feral grin that sent a shiver down the FBI agent's back.

"Deal."

- - -

Sam heard the satisfying click of the lock giving way and he pulled his hands free, rubbing his wrists tenderly.

"We've got to get out of here." Jim started to run out of the room, Sam right on his heels.

"You said Dean was going to be here any minute. Is that true?"

"He could be here right now for all I know. And the entire station is looking for him." Jim said grimly.

Sam furrowed his brows and gave a determined growl. "Then I guess we have to find him first."

- - -

"So I guess we need to save him then, huh?"

"I guess we do." Dean agreed.

"And we need a plan." John continued.

At that, Dean grinned. "Nah man. Let's wing it."

John broke out into an identical, more genuine grin and nodded his head. "I was hoping you would say that."

- - -

**NOW**

12:00 noon

". . . And make sure the teams are on full alert." Hendrickson finished his last phone call to brag and warn about Dean's soon coming capture and leaned back comfortably in his office chair, facing Samuel with a rather pleased expression.

"Everything's falling into place." Victor commented.

"Good to know." Samuel remarked, boredom lacing his voice. "You look surprised though."

"Well you and your brother haven't exactly been the easiest to find and charge. I'm actually a little surprised you agreed to this deal at all. You both seemed pretty tight back at the bank robbery."

"People change." Samuel said simply. "Dean deserves what he gets."

"You think?" Hendrickson asked.

"Absolutely."

"Maybe you would be interested in testifying against him then. I can't imagine he won't be locked away for life anyway, but every voice counts. Especially yours."

"I don't think so Vicky. I've had enough time in government facilities thank you very much. And courtroom's. . . Yeah, that would be a no." Samuel said smoothly, as if declining a cookie.

Victor however didn't share his sentiments and raised an eyebrow. "Funny. I don't remember seeing anything about juvie or prison time."

"What can I say? It's like I'm an entirely different person."

"Are you telling me you somehow hacked into government records-"

"Please, Vick. I'm flattered, honestly I am. But really," Samuel gave a half smile and lifted both his feet till they were resting obnoxiously on Hendrickson's desk, papers and folders scattering under the unexpected pressure. "That kind of rational thinking isn't going to get you anywhere."

Hendrickson stared at Samuel as if he had just gone mad. "Get your feet the hell off my desk."

"Whatcha gonna do about it?" Samuel threw back, giving that infuriating grin Victor had begun to hate the moment they met. "Until you have Dean. . . I'm untouchable."

It was in that moment that the FBI agent realized he was being played like an out of tune fiddle in the hands of a master. "What kind of game are you trying to play here?" He asked, leaning forward, unwilling to reveal his discomfort to their proximity.

"Game?" Samuel laughed. "This isn't a game."

The dark brunet removed his feet from the desk and joined Victor half way, faces so close they could feel their own breath being reflected back to them. "Besides, if this was a game, I would have already won."

**- - -supernatural- - -**

Sam was surprised at how quickly he was running out of breath. How many halls had they run down already? 5? 6? 40? It felt like himself and Jim were lost in a never ending mouse maze with the scientists forgetting that they were even there, leaving the mice to starve to death.

Sam shook his head. Where had _that_ analogy come from? _'And why the hell does my head hurt so damn much?'_

Actually, Sam had a pretty good idea why his head was banging to the beat of Metallica's 'Enter Sandman', though he didn't want to believe it. He knew from past experience that belief is the first step of making it true.

A vision.

It had taken him an awful long time to figure out why he was having visions not even close to being connected with the yellow eyed demon, but now he had narrowed it down to two possible reasons.

A) Something happened when his double 'teleported' through the time/space whatchamacallit, causing a rift and connection between the two of them, in turn, changing the basis to his window to the future.

Or of course

B) Samuel was right and his visions were evolving from only seeing deaths to looking at more broad things. Such as his double's past life, and possibly Dean's double's past life.

The whole thing was so complicated that it wasn't even funny.

But none of Sam's rationalizing could forestall what he knew was on its way.

"Uh, Jim." He said, wincing as the words seemed to echo inside his head.

"Sam, hurry up." Jim called from a little ways ahead of him. "We can't stay in this hall for long, it's right in the open."

Sam heard his words, but could not process them. He tried to force the incessant buzzing out of his skull, tried to clear his mind as he concentrated on the agent's voice, needed to be free of this pressure building headache. Finally, knowing it wouldn't get any better, the tall brunet tightly pinched the bridge of his nose, pushed himself forward. . .

. . . And fell face-first to the ground.

"Sam." Jim hissed. The seasoned agent turned around just in time to see the young man take a nose dive to the marble floor below and jumped forward to catch him. He didn't make it in time.

**- - -supernatural- - -**

"You're an idiot."

The statement was short, to the point, and just the right thing to say if you wanted to piss Sam Winchester off. Unfortunately, Sam was being attacked by a murderous headache at the moment and therefor had no ability to act upon his pissed-off impulses. . .

Sam groaned as he opened his eyes. Vertigo washed over him as he realized he was no longer laying on the hard, marble ground of an FBI hallway but sitting on a rickety wooden bench located in what appeared to be a never ending patch of grass behind him and a never ending stretch of water in front. "What the hell?" He asked groggily.

"That's what I was going to ask." The voice spoke again. "What the hell were you thinking? Did you not listen to a word I said to you?"

Sam gripped tightly to the edge of the bench till his vision cleared and he could finally look around without flinching at the brightness. Rechecking his surroundings, Sam verified that he was right the first time. Lush green grass and peaceful, blue water was all he could see, other then, of course, the very hard, wooden, brown bench he was sitting on and the strangely colored white sky. He was also only wearing a towel. That was weird.

"Hello? Man, I'm over here, not underneath that barely modest piece of terrycloth you're wearing."

Sam snapped his head up, grimacing at the small explosion of fireworks playing behind his eyes at the sudden movement. "Ah." On reflex, his hand came up to press against his forehead, trying to bide away the pain along with the pretty colors.

"Sorry about the headache, Dude. This was the only way I could think of getting your attention." The voice sounded apologetic.

"Oh yeah?" Sam ground out through his tightly clenched teeth, still not able to identify the source of the mocking voice though he knew he had heard it before. It also sounded closer. Maybe if he swung blindly with his arms, he could punch him. (Their was no mistaking the fact that the voice belonged to a person of the male species.)

"Yeah. The migraine should pass, and when it does," The voice paused. "We need to have a serious talk, Sam."

**- - -supernatural- - -**

It had been an undeniably quick walk from the truck to where they were sure Sam was brought to, but Dean's heart was beating with an aggressiveness that would suggest he was in the midst of running a seemingly endless marathon. Not quite, but close.

Dean carefully stepped through the surrounding brush to avoid getting the majority of persistent wildlife on his suit's pants. Where did he get the suit you might ask? Oddly enough, both Dean's kept an identical dress suit folded less than neatly in their duffle bags, and decided it would be the best thing to wear if they wanted to blend in with the FBI environment. They obviously hadn't thought of the fact that they would have to walk near miles in those things. . .

But ignoring their blatant oversight, Dean gave a well deserved curse and sighed. Both himself and his double were standing directly in front of the building they had been searching for, for the last two days.

'_Finally'_ Dean thought with less emotion then one would expect from a person in his condition.

"Ready?"

Dean blew out one final sigh and nodded. "Yeah. You sure you're with me on this?"

John unconsciously rubbed his eyepatch. "A little late to be bailing now, don't you think?"

Dean grinned. Honestly, despite the circumstance upon which they met, and the allusion to the idea that 'John' had something to do with his brother's injuries, the sandy-haired hunter was becoming a little attached to his doppelgänger. It wasn't every day you meet yourself and realize that he's just as cool and kick-ass as you are. Granted, this guy was missing an eye, but Dean was surprised at how natural it seemed. Or was it?

Dean brushed down the black suit he had donned back at the truck and pulled a pair of dark sunglasses from an inside pocket, watching curiously as his double did the same.

John, dressed in an exact duplicate of the suit Dean was wearing, procured a pair of his own sunglasses and looked at them intently before sighing and reaching behind his head to undo the clasp to his eyepatch. Letting the leather item fall into the palm of his hand, the doppelgänger stuffed it into his pocket, but before he could place the glasses on his face, he saw from the corner of his good eye, Dean staring a hole through him.

"Yeah, the patch wasn't just for kicks. Any questions?" 'John' growled.

Dean couldn't believe what he was seeing. Sure, John's left eye was just as it should be. I mean, it was his eye, so of course it was great, but the right eye. . . Instead of a similarly perfect eye with a sparkle in his green iris's, it was an eerie shade of pale gray with irreparable looking scars all over the blemished skin around it. His eyelid was obviously damaged with the eyelashes missing. And while John's good eye glared at him for the visual intrusion, his right couldn't seem to focus; to find where his face would be, looking a little ways off.

"You- I. . ." Dean stumbled, looking away. "Sorry man."

"Wasn't you who did it." John said gruffly, jerking the glasses over his eyes, hiding the disfigured area before Dean could take a second glance, signaling that the conversation and unwanted observation was officially over. "So, any idea how to bust into this place?"

"Not really." Dean admitted.

"Great. So much for 'winging it' huh?" Eyepatch, scratched at the growing stubble around his face as if lost in thought. "I think we should split up."

Dean snorted. "What makes you think I trust you enough to let you go off on your own, especially after you practically admitted to being the one who put my brother in the hospital."

"_Practically_ admitted? Did I not make that part clear?" John laughed. "Let me try that again: It was me. All of it. I kidnapped Sam, took him to an empty warehouse, tied him up, beat him with a large metal pole, slapped him around a little bit, and I'm pretty sure I messed up his arm and/or wrist pretty bad. It's a wonder he made it out after he knocked me out. He packs one helluva punch by the way. I wouldn't be surprised if he broke his hand-"

"Shut up." Dean growled out, lowly.

"No." Eyepatch Dean said defiantly. "It has been pretty obvious that you don't trust me, which is fine. It's probably for the best. As a matter of fact, I don't _want_ you to trust me. I mean, I don't trust you, but I'm not seeing a whole lot of other options going on here. If we don't split up, I don't think we'll find your brother in time to break his scrawny ass free, and we aren't going to get out of here at all if we stay here arguing about it either. So there."

John stopped his rant and raised an eyebrow at him. "I'll leave the choice with you. Do we stay together, or split up?"

Dean was so divided between wanting to kill his double for the things he did, or killing himself for letting all this happen in the first place, that he was stunned into momentary silence. Finally, he nodded slowly, unable to look his double in the eye. "We split up."

"Good." John nodded, grabbing hold of a small knapsack he had brought along. Earlier, Dean had asked what was inside, but his double refused to explain, leaving the annoyed hunter to guess. _'Probably just some holy water and shit.'_ He reasoned with himself, though he still had his doubts.

"So if we're splitting up, which way you going?" Dean asked.

John didn't hesitate. "Right."

Dean stood stiffly back up from his crouching position near the ground, his myriad of injuries protesting every move he made. Groaning with the burning pain, Dean massaged his fingers near his hairline, barely a pinch away from the five stitches holding his head together. Damn steering wheel. _'Sorry Baby.'_ He quickly apologized in his head for cursing any part of his beloved Chevy.

But ever since escaping the hospital, he had put all of his injuries on hold. Now though, they refused to be ignored. Every part of his being was sore, crying out for some kind of relief. Any kind of relief. Dean thanked the stars he wasn't naturally inclined to suicide, otherwise he knew he probably would have already killed himself.

"Here."

Dean looked up in surprise at the hand holding three whitish pills in front of him. The hand belonged to none other than 'John'.

"What?"

"Dude, I think it's a little obvious you're in pain, so, uh, here."

Just like himself, Dean could tell that his double was having a hard time with the whole 'offering help/ receiving help, thing, but accepted the pain medication nevertheless. Especially after he discovered it was the strong stuff. Without wasting any time, Dean threw the pills into his mouth and swallowed dry, enjoying the feeling of the capsules sliding down his throat, knowing that relief was on the way.

"Thanks."

"Yeah, whatever." John played it cool.

"No, man. Thanks. For. . . you know." Dean gestured around him. "Being here. Helping." The aching hunter could not, for the life of him, figure out how he felt about his doppelgänger. One minute he was tripping around, thinking it was so cool, the next he was feeling sympathy for whatever happened to him in his other life, and then he wanted to strangle the son of a bitch for hurting his little brother. . . Now he was thanking him.

When did he turn into a chick with his emotions running so high. Must be the head injury to blame.

John snorted at the thanks. "It's not like you were really giving me a window not to."

Dean had to agree with that. "Uh, right. So I'm heading left then."

"Yep." John unzipped his bag and handed Dean a small black item that closely resembled his walkman turned EMF meter- which of course, he discovered had been left back in the Impala. "Take the walkie talkie with you. If you run into trouble, I'll be on channel five."

"Kay." Dean shoved the piece of equipment in his suit's pant's pockets.

"Oh, and Dean."

Dean turned around at 'John's' voice. "Yeah."

"_Don'_t run into trouble. No guarantee I'm running around FBI headquarters to save your sorry ass."

"Right back attcha." Dean grinned and trudged forward, leaving his double and the green shrubbery behind.

'_Just hang in there Sam.'_

**- - -supernatural- - -**

Sam felt like he was drowning inside himself, struggling against the strong tide while lacking some kind of a buoy to help keep him afloat. The pain was intense, rolling over and around him like the salty water of the ocean, every wave becoming more powerful than the last, till soon they faded away to dull rises, barely splashing against his knees. But that didn't mean he was no longer wet, nor did it mean his head no longer hurt.

"You feeling any better?"

Sam groaned. "Just feeling a little sea-sick is all."

"Sea-sick?" The voice sounded worried. "Is it the lake? Because, I can change that if you want."

"No, just give me a sec, kay?" Sam realized he was talking to (and possibly snapping at) somebody who he had so far not seen yet, but it didn't sound like the person meant any harm, and it's not like he had any choice in the matter, his skull still refusing to cooperate and all.

"We're kinda running out of time here, man. I know it hurts, but I need you to suck it up and start paying attention."

Sam thought about cussing a blue streak at the stranger to tell him how he felt about that plan, but decided against it. This guy obviously meant business.

Thankfully, the drums were ending and the little men behind his eyes ended the fireworks show, so he could finally start focusing on what was going on around him. Still at the lake, still on the bench, and still in a towel. That was really weird. Okay, now where was the voice coming from? Doing a 360 from his spot on the bench, Sam frowned. He was alone. "Great, I'm hearing voices too."

"Oh come on. That's not funny. I'm standing right here." The voice sounded exasperated. "See me waving?"

"Uh, no." Sam crinkled his nose.

"Crap." The voice said. There was a short lived shuffling sound for a moment before: "Let me just. . . ah, there we go."

Sam's eyes widened in unexpected shock as a gigantically large oak tree instantly popped up from the ground, in the single blink of an eye, with a young blond man leaning against it, staring right back at him. Suddenly, the man waved at him. "Hey. Can you see me now?"

"Uh, yeah." Sam stumbled.

"Good. Sorry about that. Okay, like I said, we really, really need to talk, dude."

"Talk? Talk about what?" Sam was still a little disturbed at the sudden appearance of the man and the tree. "And who the hell are you?"

"Jeez, you act like we've never met before." The man rolled his eyes.

"We haven't." Sam blinked.

"What do you-" The man looked down and sighed. "Damn. Well how do you like that. . .? Sorry, I forgot to change after my last appointment."

Sam watched with even more incredulity as the man disappeared and reappeared, this time looking just like Sam himself.

"Ta-da!" The man lifted his hand in a 'surprise!' fashion, grinning ear to ear. At Sam's confused and now rather disturbed look, his face fell. "Seriously? Dude, it's me. Cavere? Ringing any bells? Oh no, of course not. I didn't tell you my name last time."

"Cavere?" Sam thought for a minute. "Take heed? Your name is 'Take Heed'?"

"Well I prefer Cavere, but you can call me Steve if you want."

"Why in hell would I want to call you that?"

"It's an acronym, Chuckles." The Sam look-alike dead panned. "STEVE: Standard Traveling Evanescent Entity. I know, it's a mouthful. It used to be simpler before people realized we weren't sent from the Devil."

"What were you called then?"

"STD's."

Sam nearly choked on his own spit. "What?"

"Not that kind of STD." Steve spoke quickly, trying to salvage what little shreds of his name's dignity were left. "It's another acronym. Standard Traveling Demon. Never-mind, it doesn't matter." Steve waved his hand like he was dismissing something. "Anyway, you might remember me from your motel's bathroom mirror, and your dream back in the hospital."

"Oh." Sam did remember him.

"But like I said. We have to talk about what's going on here." Steve sat down next to Sam and glared at the brunet. "So, did you or did you not listen to a single word I said? Or maybe you enjoy ignoring people's warnings."

"What do you mean-?"

"What do you think I mean, Sam? What was with you and Samuel swapping your life stories, trying to get all. . . connected and what-not? What did you not understand when I told you about doppelgängers intentions? Didn't I say his purposes were malicious at best? Want to explain why you shared your vision of Tara with him? Why in all the hell would you tell him you had powers too? Are you or are you not a freakin' idiot?"

Sam hadn't expected this, though thinking back he probably deserved this heated pep talk/lecture. _'I really screwed this one up.'_

"Was he telling the truth? About my powers?" Sam asked. He wasn't trying to overlook or ignore what Steve said, but he really wanted to know, and who better to ask then a standard traveling evanescent entity? Steve seemed to understand this and sighed.

"Yeah, he was telling the truth."

"So then what was the problem of telling him?"

Now Steve looked mad. "Are you not getting this?" He stood up from the bench and started pacing. "Do you have any clue why your double is here? Did you even think about what his motive was in telling you all that? Did he tell you what he wanted in return for that little bit of passed on knowledge."

"No." Sam was bewildered at being reprimanded like this. Nobody had yelled at him like this in a long time, and it was a humbling experience he would have rather gone without.

"I didn't think so." Steve huffed.

"Do you know?"

"What?"

"Do you know what he wants?" Sam re-asked.

Steve scratched at his chin thoughtfully, and nodded. "Yes. I do."

"Then tell me." The young hunter prodded.

"I can't."

"Why the hell not?"

Steve frowned. "I can't tell you exactly what he wants, because it's not what _he_ wants that's pushing him forward."

"What's that mean?" Sam was confused.

"It's means our friend Samuel has a past darker than you probably thought, and that something higher and far more complex then my understanding is going on and pulling the strings to this little charade. I'm afraid though, that your double is in the midst of a struggle between what his 'master' wants and what he wants, and however this ends, it's not going to be pretty." Steve sat back down on the bench and sighed. "This is a whole lot more serious now then before. Every move- every decision you and your brother make from here on out will decide the outcome."

"You mean the fate of our doppelgängers lies with Dean and me?"

"I already told you that your decisions affect the future, but yes. Because your doubles are here, you also hold their futures in your hands, even if it seems so unobvious." Steve picked up a recently invisible rock and tossed it into the lake before him.

"So, Sam. You ready to make some right decisions?"

Sam was suddenly assaulted by a rapid pounding in his skull. "Gah." Closing his eyes, Sam grimaced when the world started to feel like it was spinning round.

"Sam?"

The dark haired hunter brought his hands up and pressed them tightly against the side of his head, willing the devastating pain to go away. It didn't work.

"Sam? Are you listening?"

Sam could only groan in his agony, cradling his head in his hands.

"Come'on Sam. Wake up. I need you to wake up."

"Just, gimme me a minute Steve." Sam managed to grind out.

"Steve? Come on, Sam. It's Jim. We are still in the FBI station. And Sam, I need you to wake up."

Sam's eyes flew open in surprise. _'Jim'_ "Jim?"

"Oh, thank God." Jim breathed. "I thought you were dead for a minute there, kid."

"My head hurts."

"You took a nasty fall. It's a miracle your head didn't split wide open." The agent remarked grimly. "Other then the headache, you feeling okay? I think we should find a hospital once we get out of here. . ."

"No, no more hospitals." Sam shook his head, forcing himself not to wince at the slight motion.

Jim shook his own. "Alright. I won't make you go if you don't want, though it goes against my gut. You're sure a lucky one, you know it?"

"Yeah," Sam mumbled. "Lucky."

"You think you can stand? We really have to get out of here before someone sees us." Jim said urgently before saying under his breath, though loud enough for Sam to hear. "Another freakin' miracle that they didn't find us already."

"I think I can." Sam responded to the question. "I'm pretty sure I'm okay."

"Good to know. I'm not exactly in my prime anymore and I don't think I could have carried you out of here, even with all this damn adrenaline pumping."

Sam turned one side of his mouth into a half smile before he threw his hand to the agent, silently asking for some assistance in standing back up. Jim complied, taking hold of his hand with a firm grip and hauled the 6'4" hunter back to his feet, steadying him as he swayed for a second. Sam nodded his thanks, before reaching for the wall, needing something solid to lean on as he made his way down the hall.

Jim watched him for a second, to be sure he wouldn't have to catch the kid before he fell again, and once he was satisfied that Sam no longer was in need of his help, he walked past the brunet, leading the both of them through the many corridors leading to freedom.

As Sam slowly pushed himself forward, his mind wandered to what Steve had said about both his and Dean's decisions dictating not only their own fates, but their doubles, one of whom, at least, had a past more mysterious then he guessed. He had known something was off about Samuel, but he figured it was just his imagination, or the drugs. . .

'_I'm coming Dean.'_

**- - -supernatural- - -**

Daniel groaned as his eyes opened and his body registered only pain. He was face-planted on the hard metal table and sitting in an equally solid chair. Raising his head, he looked around, trying to figure out what was going on.

Jim. That rat bastard.

The agent quickly stood and swayed, bringing his hand up to the back of his head and moaned under his breath. What hit him?

Using deductive reasoning, and seeing the shattered glass spread across the floor, Daniel concluded that his former friend smashed the cup - with the water still in it of all the damn things - into the side of his head, put him in the chair, and then ran off with Sam.

Ugh. This headache was not helping his situation any.

Trying to override the motion sickness he was feeling just from standing up, Daniel took two baby steps, and decided that he could take a few more. By the time he reached the door, the FBI agent's equilibrium had fully returned and his adrenaline began to pump.

He had to get back to his partner. Hendrickson needed to know about this.

Checking the clock on the wall in the hallway, Daniel was glad to see he wasn't out for that long. But who knew where Jim or Sam could have went by now. Probably to wherever they thought Dean was going to be. But where was that?

Carefully, using the wall as support, he made his way down the hall and back into main headquarters, first checking out the video monitors.

Rewinding the tape, he watched back to when he confronted Jim. Seeing that glass shatter on impact made his head ache all over again, but he kept his eyes open, waiting to see which direction the two left.

Right. They went right.

Daniel grabbed the tape and rushed out the room.

**- - -supernatural- - -**

Colin looked over to his sister, happy to see she had finally dozed off for the first time since they left her house. He had never really thought till now how much time could be saved with a psychic there to guide you. As soon as Colin insisted he be the one to drive, and Tara relinquished her place in the driver's seat, she told him he needed to get on the highway and head to D.C. He didn't know how she knew that and had no clue how the whole 'power' thing worked, but he did know he trusted Tara.

So there he was. Driving down the highway, not really knowing where he was to go, but going anyway.

Ever since his sister had woken up that morning, Colin had been worried her dream hit closer to home for her than she admitted. He loved Tara with all his heart, and if driving out to a different state without sleep or rest of any kind would help her feel better sooner, then he would do it. He might have been the younger sibling, but he held the same amount of protective instinct as most older ones.

His thoughts of determination were interrupted though, when Tara's phone began to vibrate.

'_Shit.'_ He thought to himself as Tara shifted in her seat and woke up.

"What the- oh." Tara sighed in the passenger seat and made a grab for her cell, pulling it from the clip on her belt and flipping it open to read the blueish screen.

_1 new message. Re: J_

"Got another message from Julie." Tara said, clicking on the 'open' button as she yawned at the same time.

"What did the first one say?" Colin asked, letting up on the gas pedal to appease the slower speed limit.

"Just said she found something strange while working yesterday. Said it was my kind of thing. I hoped to see her at the hospital but she was already off duty. . ." She trailed off as she read the message.

"What is it?"

_Hey T, I heard I missed you at the hospital. Did Dr. P. fill you in?_

Tara clicked reply.

_No, what did you want to show me?_

Colin took his eyes off the road when five minutes later the melody to Miss Murder by AFI sang out in the car. It was Tara's phone again.

_2 new messages. Re: J_

_Message 1: Check it out._

Tara clicked down to open message two. Instantly thumbnails appeared on her screen. Opening each one individually, Colin saw as his sister's eyes got wider and wider. Picture after picture popped up, revealing different angles of a single injury. Three large, green tinged scratch marks from the top left shoulder to the right hip was all Tara could see.

_Reply: What the hell is it?_

Julie texted back quickly.

_Don't know. Dr. P. stumped. Your kind of thing? SN?_

"SN?" Colin interrupted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Supernatural." Tara answered. "She's one of the few people who knows about my abilities. I don't think she's really convinced it's true, but she's kept an open mind."

"So what do you think could make scratches like that?"

"I don't know." Tara murmured, inspecting the pictures closer. "Out of supernatural like creatures, a wendigo maybe. Could be a werewolf. . ."

"A werewolf? Really?" Colin sounded intrigued.

"It's a possibility. . ."

"Who got scratched? Did Julie say?"

"She didn't." Tara typed in the question and waited for her friend to text back. There was an instant reply.

_Dean Winchester_

"Dean? How the hell is he walking around with an injury like that?" Colin exclaimed. "If that were me, I would be at home watching Quantum Leap re-runs until at least the infection disappeared, eating nothing but popsicle's and chicken noodle soup."

"Good point." Tara tilted her head to the side. "Wait a minute. . ."

"What? Did you find something?" Colin switched lanes and passed a large van before returning his attention back to his sister.

Tara lifted her eyes and shot her brother a look of confusion. "Yeah. I think I did."

The last picture was enlarged on the screen and just nearly cropped out at the very edge of the photo was a single shot of the victim's wrist encircled with a detailed tattoo of blue flames.

Colin quirked his eyebrows in utter confusion as he glanced at the small picture.

"Sam?"

**- - -supernatural- - -**

Samuel couldn't have been happier. Everything was falling into place for him. Sam was captured, he had a distinct feeling that Dean was on his way, and seeing Victor again was just a lucky bonus. Of course he had a few other things on his list he needed to check off before putting the last part of his plan into motion but over all, this was turning out rather well.

"So," Samuel recognized the voice to be Hendrickson's. "What are you going to do?"

"Do?"

"You know. When you get out of here. Once Dean has been put in custody and you get to go out and live a whole new life. What are you gonna do?"

Samuel cocked his head to the side in faux thoughtfulness before speaking. "I don't know. Go volunteer for community service projects, adopt an unwanted animal, go to Africa and help all the needy children there. . ."

Samuel thought about his choices and before he knew it, words began to pour out before his mind could comprehend them. "Or. . . Maybe go back to school, find a pretty girl and settle down. Basically what I should've done in the first place. . ." Samuel trailed off, eyes wide; like he had just received an epiphany. "That's it. That's what I'll do."

"Find a girl?" Victor asked.

"Not just any girl." Samuel jumped up, pacing the room like a caged animal. "The best girl- my girl."

Victor was confused at Samuel's change of attitude. If he didn't know better, he would have worried about Sam's mental health, but as far he knew, the man was actually quite sound.

"I'll find her." Samuel continued as if Hendrickson was no longer in the room with him. "I'll find her, and- and I'll take her home. That's what I'll do. I'll take her home, build her a nice house, and get a job. I'll be the perfect husband and. . . we'll have kids together. It'll be. . . perfect."

Samuel did a 180 to face the black agent with full sincerity. "It'll be perfect."

"Oh yeah?" Hendrickson asked, not really caring one way or the other about Samuel's definition of 'perfect' or what he actually planned to do with his freedom. "Who's the lucky girl?"

Samuel's eyes glittered as a feral grin graced his features.

"Tara."

**- - -supernatural- - -**

**A/N1:** I hope that chapter was long enough for your liking. Of course, if it wasn't you could go to my 'home' page and click on my other, most recently posted multi-chapter story 'You Look At Me But You Don't See Me'. New chapter up for that. But these notes aren't for advertising, they're my small yet efficient window to communicate with you guys. So here we go. . .:

**A/N2:** For people who may be worried that Tara will turn into some kick-butt Mary Sue character, try not to worry. I personally am not a fan of those and have tried really hard to be sure that she's merely around as a twisty hint to Samuel's past. She's not going to be a heroin, saving the lives of both Sam and Dean, and though it may not have seemed obvious, I tried to subtly emphasize that she is also engaged. Colin is more of a fill-in character, if you will. He'll play his part in helping the story (and sometimes boys) along, but other then that he has no real relevance or important backstory to worry about.

**A/N3:** Next chapter should be up and readable a whole heck of a lot sooner then this last one, so hopefully you guys haven't given up on me yet.

**Remember:** Reviews are music to the writer's soul.

Your Glad to be Back Writer Friend - Kerri B.


	23. Chapter 22

**Beginning Notes:** Thank you for the two wonderful reviews for last chapter. I realize I left you guys hanging for a long time on that one, but I swear I will finish this. I don't like to leave stories unfinished. Oh, and uh, there's a make-out scene in this one. It's a flash-back to one of our Doppel's lives, but it's still a make-out. No doubts. Remember, this is rated T for just this very type of thing though I'm sure by now it wouldn't affect you. Just thought I should warn you people in advance since we really haven't had anything like that in this story yet.

Again, keep in mind that 'John' is Dean's doppel. - Kerri

**Chapter Twenty-Two: One Way In, One Way Out**

There was no way in.

Or, at least, that's what Dean kept thinking after he made a total of two rounds around the large whitish building without finding a single entrance unblocked or unguarded by security camera's and armed guards; guns in tow. But if there was no way in, where was 'John'? He had walked around the area twice and hadn't run into him once. _'You better not have skipped out on me man'_

Annoyed at his plans of a quick and victorious stealthy in, relatively stealthy out being royally flushed down the toilet, Dean carefully picked his way back to the bushes he and his double had previously hid in. There he could think; could figure out a new plan of attack. He needed to get in. Sam was in there, and he still had no clue where exactly or what was happing with -or possibly to- him.

_Alright Dean, think_.

Trying to think logically, Dean sat back, ignoring the fact that he was collecting a rather good amount of dirt and what he hoped was only more squishy feeling dirt on the seat of his pants. Now, assuming his eye patched counterpart wasn't laughing manically at Dean's gullibility as he tripped back to his truck, it only seemed logical that he had found a way in.

_But where?_

Had he mentioned that he'd been round the seemingly never ending building twice?

There were no open or unlocked windows, no secret panel walls, and no back doors. Squinting, Dean leaned forward trying to catch glimpses of the persons inside the building. Maybe if he walked in at the right time and acted like he was on some important errand (which he was) nobody would stop him.

At the moment there was what looked like, two different 'suits' (aka: agents), a female secretary, a janitor, a couple men in medical uniforms, and of course the ever present security camera's of whom might as well count as a single person. Damn things. Dean never liked 'em. Ever since that whole 'incident' in Nebraska at the faith healer's tent.

_Okay, think. Think dammit__ཀ_

Agents, EMS, secretary, janitor, camera's. . . that wasn't too bad, right? The medical looking personal probably wouldn't be a problem, but the secretary might ask questions, or want him to sign in or something. And as hard as it sounded, Dean had gotten pretty good at avoiding face time with security cameras, so those weren't really a threat to blowing his cover, but the agents might want to strike up a conversation, or ask about his latest case. As a rule, Dean was also really good at lying his ass off, but not even he was sure he pull off lying about working there.

_So what does that leave?_

Dean made a quick mental list in his head:

Easy: Paramedics, and cameras

Hard: Agents and secretary.

That left the janitor-

_Wait a minute. . ._

"John?" Dean gaped from his prone position in the bushes.

Sure enough, there was his doppelgänger, wearing the same gray jumpsuit Dean had stolen from the hospital, working a mop like he had done it his whole life. He was also donning a black ball cap featuring his support and allegiance for the sport of NASCAR, pulled low enough to cover his forehead but not hinder his eyesight, leaving his damaged right eye exposed. Which is how Dean recognized him in the first place.

_That son of a bitch._

"That son of a bitch."

He watched as Eyepatch casually and subtly mopped his way around the front lobby before moving down the hall, whistling by the looks of it. Dean could have congratulated or killed him. He could have at least let him in on his plan. It was his brother they were trying to get to after all. Dean huffed loudly in the shrubs, pissed that his double was in while he was still struggling to think up a plan a. This sucked big time.

"Damn it to hell." Dean cursed under his breath, plucking an innocent leaf from a nearby branch, ripping the green piece of nature to shreds before breathing again. He had to get in, that much he knew. But how?

Inspiration struck like lightning to an umbrella tip.

_Freaking finally. . ._

**- - -supernatural- - -**

Ten minutes earlier

'John' stuffed the small bottle of pain pills in his pocket before unzipping his bag and handing Dean a small black radio. "Take the walkie talkie with you. If you run into trouble, I'll be on channel five."

"Kay." Dean shoved the piece of equipment in his suit's pant's pockets.

John shouldered his black bag and was just about to take off in the opposite direction when he faltered for a moment, stopped and said gruffly: "Oh, and Dean."

Dean turned around at John's voice. "Yeah."

"_Don'_t run into trouble." He said it seriously. He had agreed to come help his double find his brother, but he didn't owe him his life or anything. No freaking way in hell was he going to die to help the snot -nosed man that was Sam. "No guarantee I'm running around FBI headquarters to save your sorry ass."

He was slightly surprised when Dean didn't falter or pause at the cold statement. "Right back attcha." He grinned and said instead, trudging away from John and his spot back in the green shrubbery.

John shook his head with amusement. Dean certainly was an enigma to him, though when thinking about it, they weren't much different than each other. Seeing this other life for himself though, the eye-patched man was forced to ask himself:

_Where did I go wrong?_

Not allowing himself time to further ponder that thought, John waited till he was sure Dean was no longer in eyesight before unzipping his duffel one final time, hands digging in, searching for the gray jumpsuit he had stuffed inside earlier. Fingers brushed against the cloth, fisting around it as his hand drug the clothing item out, holding it triumphantly.

Dean had already admitted he wasn't a real janitor, so it wasn't like he was going to miss it or anything.

Ditching the swanky suit and black sunglasses, Eyepatched Dean donned the gray jumpsuit, pulling a faded ball cap out of the bag and pulling it low over his forehead. Silently, John shouldered his duffel, grunting as it laid heavily against him, pulling at the sore areas he had received from the walls and floor Dean had shoved him into back at the motel. Apparently, he could fight as great in every dimension. He didn't know why, but that bit of knowledge comforted him.

"Show time." He whispered to himself, bursting through the bushes. Slowly, he walked up to the intimidating building, saying a soft prayer in his head before strutting through the doors, spying an old mop leaning lightly against a nearby wall.

Picking it up, John congratulated himself as he made a few full circles round the front lobby before moving subtly down the closest hallway. Oh, he was good.

Or so he thought until he heard the words: "Hey, you." Yelled at him from behind. Freezing, John now cursed himself, knowing he was caught.

**- - -supernatural- - -**

Unknown Specific Time

"Mmmm." It started as happy moan, but ended as a low animalistic growl coming from the back of her throat as his lips dipped down to caress the side of her neck in small kisses; soft but becoming stronger and more demanding as he went.

His body pinned her down to the back seat, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other laying dangerously on her still jean clad thigh. Granted, the back seat to his car wasn't the most comfortable place to be in this situation, but it sure as hell was convenient.

Still reeling from the kisses he was bestowing, she reached up one her hands to unclasp the pin in her hair, letting the dark locks fall around her, and try to unbutton her shirt right after.

"Wait." He came up for air, watching her confused look for a moment before, in one deft moment, he flipped her arms above her head and tugged the nearly see through tank top off himself. She squealed at his ingenuity, clasping her arms around his neck, pulling him back down to her.

"Oh. . . Sammy." She breathed.

Samuel grinned, loving her reactions. This certainly wasn't the first time the back seat had been used like this before, but Lisa was definitely making it fun. Both fifteen year olds kissed again, before Samuel bolted up, staring out the window like a deer caught in headlights, which was eerily accurate considering the bright light being pointed in his face. "Aw, damn." He muttered while Lisa shrieked tried to cover herself back up with her earlier discarded shirt.

"Sam." A voice called out.

Sam slumped his shoulders, but complied with the unspoken add on:_ Get out of the car_. "Hey officer."

"A little late for you to be out and about, don't you think?" The black policeman raised an eyebrow.

Samuel mimicked his raised eyebrow, crossing his arms defiantly. "I don't think so."

The officer sighed. "Aw, com'on Sam. Let's not play this game tonight."

Sam glared angrily at him, brushing his longer hair back for emphasis. "No, let's play. I think I was doing fine before you showed up. I wasn't speeding, or driving drunk, hell, I wasn't driving at all. I don't think you have any right budding into my business."

The officer ignored him but pointed his flashlight at Lisa whom was still sitting in the back seat. "And who would this young lady be?"

"Lisa." She said timidly, belying the intensity she had only moments before.

"Lisa?" The offer repeated. "Well, Lisa, I think it's time for us to get you home."

She raised wide eyes to Samuel, waiting for his reaction. She wasn't disappointed. "She's with me." He declared. "And we're not ready to go home yet."

"You know, Samuel, you may be ready to play this game all night, but I've got things I need to do."

"Oh, you mean _real_ police work?" Samuel said snidely.

The officer was done. "Alright, that's it kid. You're coming with me tonight. I'll take you back to the station, your parents can pick you up."

Samuel narrowed his eyes. "I don't think so."

"I do."

"Oh what you going to do? Beat me up and handcuff me?" Sam rolled his eyes. "The high and mighty, all powerful Officer Hendrickson arresting a fifteen year old kid for back-talk. That'll look great on your report."

Lisa snickered quietly in her seat before quieting down at Hendrickson's scathing glare. "Yes. That is exactly what I'm going to do. I know all the other officers cut you breaks because you're 'special' or whatever the hell that means, but I see you for what you really are."

"And what's that?" Samuel challenged.

"Someone who needs to be taught a lesson."

Samuel saw it coming, but still couldn't move out of the way fast enough to avoid the black officer's hand shoving him around and slamming him roughly into the body of his car, snapping the cuffs on with a loud _'chink'_. Lisa screamed softly from the back seat, until Sam was pushed into the back seat of the police car.

Hendrickson shut the door behind him, nodding toward the wide eyed female. "I think you should come with me. I'll also have your parents pick you up."

Lisa scrambled from Sam's car and into the passenger side if the squad car.

"Hey." Samuel protested vehemently, slamming his fists against the weaving wires in between himself and the arresting officer. "What about my car?"

"It'll be towed in the morning."

"Aw, Vicky, you can't do this to me."

Victor cringed at the insulting nick-name. "Actually," He started up the engine, pulling away from wooded area they were located in, moving to the highway. "I can."

Samuel cursed at Hendrickson all the way back to the station, and added some more colorful vocal abuse as he was herded inside, hands cuffed behind him like he was some kind of criminal. Sam almost wished he was. At least he could say he was in there for a better reason than mouthing off.

Lisa had remained quiet, but Sam didn't care. He didn't even like her anyway.

"Sit." Hendrickson instructed, practically forcing the dark haired boy into a hard backed chair near the front door. Samuel knew he picked that spot specifically for his humiliation. You wouldn't have to walk inside the station to know he had gotten into trouble, all you would have to do was drive by and look through the front window.

And Samuel knew Hendrickson was enjoying it.

That's when Sam's mind was made up. He was going to kill him. He didn't know how, where, or when. All he knew is that he would, and when he did, he was going to love it.

**- - -supernatural- - -**

Present Time

"So, Vicky." Samuel said quietly. "How many people did you have to step on to become one of the government's finest?"

Hendrickson sighed. "Can't you go back to that creepy stalker speech you were going on about a minute ago? You were a little more entertaining then."

"No need. I've already got that figured out." Samuel said simply not even close to putting the agent's mind at ease. "Now I want to know about you. What are you doing here, and how many lives did you have to ruin to get this," He bounced in the soft office chair and motioned around him. "This cushy place?"

"Nothing illegal." Victor growled.

"I'll bet." Absent sounding sarcasm.

"Alright," Victor stormed out of his own chair. "I've had enough of this. If you want to know something specific, ask. Otherwise, your prodigal and supposed all mighty brother is supposed to be here within the next two hours and I plan on being there to greet him when and if he arrives. In my opinion, I think you should spending your time thinking about what you're going to do if he doesn't show up."

The words in and of themselves were menacing and obviously a barely veiled threat, but to the dark haired Winchester it had no seeable effect. "I'm not worried."

"No?"

"Nope."

"You seem pretty confident in that brother of yours." Victor commented calmly, forcing himself to once again be civil.

"When you've spent as much time as I have with Dean, you'd trust him with your life too."

"But not you." Hendrickson remarked dryly.

"What?"

"Can't trust you." He clarified.

Samuel cocked his head to the side, shaking it hesitantly. "Guess not."

Victor couldn't keep the amused snort in. "You guys are a real fucked up family, you know that?"

"It's been said." Samuel agreed without much feeling.

Both Hendrickson and Winchester twisted to face the doorway as the door burst open and Daniel Masters came pushing through.

"Daniel, what in the world are you doin-" Hendrickson started.

"Sam just escaped." Daniel said breathlessly.

"What? How is that even possible?" Victor was shocked.

"Jim. He snuck in and released him."

Hendrickson was livid now. "That bastard. What the hell is he thinking?"

"I can tell you. Actually, I can show you." Daniel waved the tape in front of his face, rushing over to a nearby VCR and pushing it in, pressing play in a quick fluid motion. Samuel and Vick leaned in as the security tape of the interrogation room came on screen, giving a small image of Sam sitting rather dejected in the metal chair.

"Wait for it." Daniel said quietly.

Almost instantly, the door swung open and Jim entered in, giving a single worried glance at the camera but never flicking on the lights. _"Sorry." _He apologized. _"I would have got the lights turned up higher but I figure your eyes have probably already adjusted."_

"_Yea me."_ They heard Sam say dryly.

"_You don't sound all that great."_ Jim commented.

"This is getting us nowhere." Hendrickson interrupted the dialogues going on, on the tape impatiently. Both Samuel and Daniel shushed him as they continued to watch.

"_Best freakin' day of my life."_

They watched the interaction for several more moments before:

"_So you're Sam?"_

"_What gave it away?"_

"_I was part of the team who brought you and the other. . . uh, Sam from the hospital."_

"_And you are?"_

"_Name's Jim."_

"_Well Jim." Sam said slowly. "You said you wanted to help me."_

"_I do." Jim said seriously._

"_I have three questions then: Why? How? And: What's the catch?"_

"Yeah, Jim. What's the catch?" Samuel taunted the screen.

_Jim scratched his chin thoughtfully and gave a small smile. "Because I think you're innocent, I'm working on it, and the only catch is that you need to convince me as to why I think I should help you get out of here. Sound good to you?"_

"_So my options are to either trust you or stay here and wait for Hendrickson to come back?"_

"_Pretty much." Jim conceded amicably._

"_Then I don't really have a choice do I?" Sam said tightly._

"_I didn't really think about it, but I guess not." _

_Sam sighed and shook his head in what could have been interpreted as defeat. "Alright then. What do you want to know?"_

- - -

Hendrickson's mouth was open in disbelief. "The kid's nuts." Was all he could find himself saying. He looked over to his partner. "You trying to tell me Jim listened to all this and still let Winchester go?"

Daniel shrugged. "It would seem that way."

"Sh." Samuel said, stare still fixed on the moving images.

"_So," Jim started slowly. "You're telling me that you hunt. . . things."_

_Sam nodded._

"_And not deer and pheasants sort of things either, but ghosts, ghouls, spirits, and evil creatures."_

"_Yeah, pretty much. The MO changes a lot but that pretty much covers the gist of it."_

"_And that's why every witness's account was incomplete. That's why they couldn't explain why you were innocent."_

"_I didn't know you talked to people we helped, but I guess."_

"_Helped? You mean with supernatural type problems?" Jim sounded distressed._

"_I know it sounds crazy." _

"You got that right." Victor mumbled.

"_But it's true. And I'll bet if you look back at past cases of yours- unsolved ones- that these things are what caused the problems. Werewolves, poltergeists, demons- they all exist and Dean and I, well we stop them."_

"_You hunt them."_

"_Yeah."_

"_I believe you kid."_

_Sam blinked blankly at him. "You do?"_

"You do?" Samuel repeated.

"_I do." Jim reiterated. "And I'm going to help you. But here's one final question for you: If you're Sam, then who in all the Hell's is outside, helping Hendrickson prepare for the capture of your brother?"_

"_Wait, what?" Sam paled._

Samuel suddenly went stiff in his seat and both Hendrickson and Master's turned their gaze over to the Sam look-alike. They were as curious as the next guy about this whole thing.

"_The other Sam guy. The smart ass with the tat. He made a deal with Victor. Dean's capture for his freedom."_

For a moment there was only silence. Then:_ "That sonofabitch." _They heard Sam swear under his breath_. "That Son. Of. A. Bitch__ཀ" __He yelled a little louder, kicking the bottom of the metal table with toes of his boot._

Hendrickson was both intrigued and a little worried about screen Sam's reaction to the news of Samuel being around.

"_I take it he's not a friend of yours."_

"_I guess not. You've got to get me out of here. I've got to find Dean; have to warn him before that freak gets to him."_

"_Who is he exactly?" Jim asked again._

"_Would you believe me if I told you he was my doppelgänger?"_

"_Doppelgänger?"_

"Doppelgänger?"

"_Let's just say he's my evil twin. It's more believable that way."_

Samuel remained quiet.

"_You are one strange kid, you know that?"_

"_Yeah," Sam agreed with a sigh. "I know."_

Daniel pointed to the dark screen. "Here we go, here's where I came in."

There was a screech and the door swung open, revealing a single man staring at the two of them in shock. _"Jim? What the hell are you doing?"_

"_Daniel." Jim's eyes widened. "I uh, I was just getting ready to move him back to his holding room. No point keeping him locked up in here when Dean's going to show up any minute now."_

"_You okay Jim? Victor asked me to take Sam back to his room, and you're not looking real good. You feeling sick?"_

"_No. I just want to hurry this up. You know if we're not there when Dean's taken captive, Vic's going to take all the credit."_

"_Have you two been talking?"_

"_Daniel, I can explain-"_

"_Explain? You're talking treason man__ཀ __This kid is a criminal and you're going to believe that he hunts vampires and shit? Have you lost your freaking mind?"_

"An understatement." Hendrickson remarked.

All three men watched with interest during the rest of their now staged argument before Jim leaped across the room and smashed the small glass of water into the side of his friend's head, letting the shattered glass fall to the floor but catching Daniel before he did.

Daniel rubbed the side of his head, thankful none of the shards had pierced skin.

"That's it? Hendrickson asked.

"Yeah." Daniel nodded. "I know it's not much, but at the very least it's enough to prosecute Jim with. Weird though, huh?"

Victor agreed, looking over to a still stiff, paler looking Samuel. "Especially that part about you Sammy, right? Doppelgängers? He really has lost it."

Samuel's lips tightened as he felt a bubbling anger and pressure building inside of him. Carefully, discreetly he pulled his sleeve down to hide the slowly brightening glow of his blue aflame tattoo.

**- - -supernatural- - -**

"Hey youཀ"

'_Oh come on,'_ The janitorial looking John/Dean (JDཀ) muttered in his head. _'There is just no way in all of hell that I'd get caught this fast.' _He froze in his steps, hoping that maybe the voice hadn't been directed at him.

"Yeah, you. Janitor."

'_Crap.'_

Almost without hesitation and with a perfect smoothness he had defined over the years, he slowly turned around and slipped into a natural Southern accent. "Me?" He asked as innocently as he could muster. "Come on now, the floors ain't gonna clean themselves- Oh for Christ's sake." He finished, instantly switching away from the accent, glaring at the man in the suit before him. "Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

"Getting me in." Dean smirked.

"You mean getting us caught." JD muttered angrily. "What were thinking, drawing attention to the both of us?"

"I was thinking that there's a mean coffee stain on my office's carpet and you would be the perfect person to take there to clean it up."

John chortled incredulously. "That's the most lame-ass idea I've heard today, and I've heard a lot. Coming here being one of them."

Dean glared though the sunglasses that still remained over his eyes. "Yeah, how about you shut the hell up and just come with me."

"What, so you can get us both screwed? I don't think so." Janitor John argued; their voices never being louder than a soft whisper. Pulling his ball cap lower on his forehead, he grasped tighter onto the mop and pushed the item down the hallway, away from an aggravated looking Dean.

"Damn." Dean groaned under his breath, running his hand resentfully through his hair. Well, he was in. That was always a good start. But where was he planning to finish, where exactly was John going, and more importantly: Where was Sam?

**- - -supernatural- - -**

"Seriously, man are we lost or something? I thought you worked here." Sam didn't mean to grumble, but they had been walking down the endless halls for some time now, and even though Samuel had somehow healed up his previous injuries, he was sore. His head was pounding from his introduction to federal floors, and his wrists were burning from being rubbed raw by handcuffs.

"Don't be a smart-ass." Jim retorted. "I'm trying to get us out without getting caught, and your constant complaining isn't helping."

"Sorry." Sam murmured. "But haven't we been down this hall already?"

"No. Are you sure your head's okay though?" The agent asked, his earlier tone softening. "Don't want you getting a concussion on me."

"I don't have a concussion."

"Had one before have you?" Jim asked, intrigued.

"I've had my share." Actually, Sam figured he'd had more than his share, but there was truly no reason in pointing that out. Head injuries were common enough to him and Dean that he was more than a little surprised that neither of them had suffered from permanent brain damage. Maybe they had and they were both just too far gone to notice. . .

"Speaking of having your share," Jim started, eyes darting around as he continued to walk forward. "How is it that you're walking now? I know Hendrickson asked you that earlier, but you never gave him a straight answer or anything. Not that I blame you but you kind of left me curious."

"You wouldn't believe me." Sam said.

"Believe you?" Jim was incredulous. "What damn right do you have to tell me what I would or would not believe? Last I checked there was a whole hell of a lot that I'd believe. Spill."

Sam still hesitated. He had already told this man a lot. But telling him about the powers that are associated with special children? No. He couldn't do that. That would be so beyond idiocy. It didn't look like Jim was going to let this one go though. _'Tell him the truth.'_ And inner voice suggested. That was when Sam realized that telling the truth was the best possible thing he could do. "Honestly, I don't know how it all happened myself."

"Don't shit with me kid." Jim growled, obviously put off that Sam would try and pull that sort of thing on him.

"I'm not." Sam continued. "You remember when you said there was something off about the other, uh, me?"

"Yeah."

"I think you're right. I don't know how or why but I think he somehow. . . healed me." Sam knew it sounded weak, but it was the truth. He had no clue how Samuel had healed him. He just knew he could.

"Seriously?" Jim peeked around a corner, signaling Sam to follow him. Sam nodded. "Damn."

"You could say that again. Now, are we almost out of here?" His impatience was back.

Jim cracked a small smile, understanding the young man's urgency. Hell, his adrenalin was pumping faster than a vulture diving for a carcass. "Almost."

**- - -supernatural- - -**

Unknown Specific Time

Carefully, Dean picked his way through the dense woods, pushing the large branches away from his face as he watched the ground for any up grown roots ready to trip him up. His boots hit the ground heavily creating the constant sound of crunching leaves beneath his feet.

It was late spring and the cool breezes continued to blow even in the night. Dean breathed in the refreshing air, sending an excited grin to the other boy walking beside him in the green forest. His friend however didn't seem to share his eager disposition.

"Hey, Dean. You sure you're ready for this man? We can always wait till next year, when you're more trained for this. You know I've only showed you what my Dad's taught me so far."

Dean laughed quietly, clapping his blond friend on the back. "Quit being such a worrying mother hen. You and I both know I'm ready. I've been training like crazy for tonight and what's a safer time to go when on a group hunt with the professionals?"

"But-"

"Seriously, Seth. I've got this one."

Both fifteen year olds glanced at each other, Seth's worried and Dean's assured till the slightly older of the two nodded. "Fine. Just be careful though, okay? Hunter's are a tight group. Not big fans of outsiders or newbies. Don't expect them to be mentors or anything."

"Dude, you sound like this is my first hunt or something. Besides, you're coming with me. I think we can handle it."

"I'm just saying." Seth defended, fidgeting in his dark jeans and black t-shirt, handling his large shot gun with utmost care.

Dean did the same, checking his ammunition and barrel to be sure they were empty till told to load.

"So where is everybody?" He whispered as soon as they reached a relative clearing, eyes piercing the darkness in search of life.

"They'll be here." Seth assured, checking his watch. "My dad said that hunters from different states were coming to this thing. Since he was out of town, he's picking one up on the way in. He said he'd meet us here."

"This hunt is that big?" Dean asked surprised. "You didn't tell me that."

"Well, it's not so much of a hunt then an extermination."

"Wait, what?" Dean remembered Seth telling him about this before, but he had to admit that hadn't really been paying attention then.

Seth sighed. "Apparently, it's something that's been going on for the last sixty years, man. It started when a close group of hunters made a pact to always be at the ready for a call from their fellow friend when they separated and went off to stay in five neighboring states. Since then, every five years nearly every hunter in those five states come together to help clear out a random town of every thing supernatural. I'm pretty sure I already told you all this."

"So this year it's a town in Texas?"

"Yep."

"Cool."

"Yep."

For several moments, the two boys remained silent, both thinking over what would probably be the best and scariest night of their life, and wondering where the rest of these kick-ass hunters were. Dean had to admit, as much as he wanted to come, their was a certain amount of apprehension to follow. Nervous that maybe tonight was the night he would meet someone who knew something about his missing brother.

"Oh, Seth." Dean quickly said, as if just remembering something. "I, uh, I want you to do something for me."

"Name it."

"I don't want you to call me Dean. I really can't afford to have my hunting life and my life at home to be compromised."

"Makes sense." Seth agreed. "What do you want me to call you instead?"

"John." Dean said quietly.

"Dude." Seth breathed. "Isn't that your dad?"

"Yeah." Dean paused for a moment, shifting his foot in the small pile of leaves gathered around him. "I think he would want me to use it."

"Want to keep your last name?"

"Yeah but only if they ask for it."

"They will." Seth warned. "They won't push because as a rule they understand privacy, but they won't trust you either."

"I don't need their trust." Dean said lowly. "I just need their help."

**- - -supernatural- - -**

A/N1: Going to keep the notes relatively short this time peeps. I know you must all be getting pretty annoyed with me for keeping them in the FBI building still, but they'll get out soon. I promise. Thank you to those continuing to read this story of mine, whether you were there from the beginning or have just begun. Your support has remained invaluable to me. I know you never would but please do not forget to leave a review to remind me why I continue to write. Your comments are like the first raindrops at the end of a drought.

Your still-writing writer friend - Kerri


	24. Chapter 23

**Beginning Note:** Hey peeps! You might notice that this first chapter starts a little strangely, (and gory) giving you the feeling that you all missed something, but don't worry. It will all be explained. Also, I went back and re-read my last five chapters and kicked myself silly for this seemingly never-ending spell in the stupid FBI building. I feel I owe everybody an apology for that. I admit that I've been trying to bring Sam and Dean back together again for about the last six chappies, but I couldn't figure out how and fell victim to my own rambling writing. I think you all suffered for that blunder so now I come to you bearing tidings of a different kind: I'm working extra hard to put energy and kick back into this story, and you all will be excited to know that it's reunion time! I love you all and all your kind words concerning this story, even though I feel like I let you down for a while there.

On to more happy matters.

Even though 'Jus In Bello' showed us the correct spelling the Victor's last name, for this story I'm keeping it the same as I've always spelled it. That way it saves me from having to go through and edit my last chapters. Boy I'm lazy. . .

Remember that Eyepatch!Dean is 'John'.

Also, my sister usually beta's my chapters but sadly, she wasn't available for reading this one over. That makes every mistake mine. My apologies.

Think my notes are long enough? - Kerri

**Chapter Twenty-Three:**

**On Your Mark, Get Set, Reunite!**

Samuel breathed heavily, hands clenched and bloody.

His black t-shirt was stained at the bottom, but it was hardly noticeable.

He didn't know how it happened. He didn't know when he snapped. All he knew was that it was the most delicious feeling on Earth. No, that was too restricting. The galaxy. Yeah, that was better. He was on the highest of highs and he never wanted to come down. It was wonderful; euphoric even.

Slowly, wanting to savor every movement, every smell, every taste, Samuel lifted his blood drenched hand to his mouth and licked the dark liquid from his forefinger. The blood instantly slid down his throat bringing his senses to life like an electric shock to the system. The aroma of copper wafted up to his nose, and he sucked in deep breath, inhaling the sweet smelling fluid.

"Mm. . . Now that's the stuff." He practically purred. Samuel reached his hand out, splattering some of the blood on the office carpet. "Want some?"

Hendrickson was wedged in the far corner, nursing his left arm and looking up at the Winchester with large, horrified eyes. "You really are a monster."

Samuel laughed quietly. "I wouldn't say that. Monster is such an archaic term, don't you think? He took another lick, causing the black agent to cringe and pull his arm tighter to his chest. "You know," Samuel continued. "Your partner is great. I mean I'm tasting a little extra iron, but it's not so bad." His tongue slid over his bottom lip and back into his mouth, taunting Hendrickson further.

Looking over to his dead, and now completely mutilated friend, Daniel, Victor felt like he was going to be sick. His eyes darted around the room trying to ignore all the blood, searching for his missing gun. He wasn't sure how, but Samuel had managed to pull the weapon away from him before he had a chance to fire. He couldn't find it anywhere. "Sick freak." Hendrickson spat.

Samuel turned on him with a growl, wrist tattoo flaring to a bright blue before it slowly faded away, and his features smoothed. "See, now we just talked about this." He lowered himself to the ground and inched his way over to Victor. "I'm not a monster, I'm not a freak." He spit out that last one angrily before smirking evilly. "I'm the Devil."

Hendrickson watched with growing appall and horror as the Winchester's eyes slowly started to fade from a strong hazel to a chaotic combination of crimson and black, forever moving around the cold empty pupils, like lava and fire, Sam's manic grin causing his heart rate to instantly pick up again- no, it was slowing down. His insides suddenly felt restricted and tight, giving the feeling that something was pressing from all sides, trying to squeeze the life out of him. He couldn't breathe. "Hu-uk." He tried to speak, but he couldn't find enough air to get words out.

Samuel glared at him through those dark eyes, leering. "And you don't fuck with the Devil."

The last thing Hendrickson remembered was being thrown across the room and hitting his head and back against something solid before passing out.

Samuel remained on the other side of the office, laughing to himself before flicking his eyes back to their original hazel color. "It's so damn good to be back."

**- - -supernatural- - -**

Sam hadn't seen this coming. Not really, anyway. Thinking back, he knew he shouldn't have been surprised, but at the same time he _was_ on drug detox and in the midst of sleep deprivation. You cannot blame a man for not expecting these things when he's in that condition. You're probably expecting an explanation for whatever it was Sam should have seen coming, am I right? Well, in the interest of hurrying this account, here goes. . .

As thankful as Sam was that his doppelgänger had taken the time to heal him, albeit in an unconventional and now worrisome sort of way, it didn't make his head hurt any less. Skull vs. Marble wasn't exactly a match made in heaven. And Dean wondered why he kept his hair long. It's called cushion! Anyway.

The point was that one minute Sam was stumbling along the wall trying to ward off a headache and the next he was face to face with his brother. Wait, brother? You mean after all this time of aggravating missed encounters, our two favorite champions had finally found each other? It sure looked that way.

Granted, Dean was on the opposite side of the hall, but being in eyesight of each other was - as far as he knew- the closest they had been in a week.

"Dean?"

Sam knew it Dean. He recognized that swagger, the way he carried himself even when undercover. The hat his brother was wearing was pulled pretty low over his forehead, but there was no mistaking that familiar smirk passing for a smile when he spotted Sam. It seemed like a single minute had slowed down to an agonizing eternity as Dean ran forward. Jim also saw the brother and stood beside a leaning Sam warily. Sam however was relived. Exuberant even. Dean was here! They found him!

But something was off, Sam knew because Dean's previous smile morphed into one that didn't look nearly as glad to see him.

"Dea-"

Sam was instantly cutoff as Dean roughly grabbed him by the arm and pushed him face first into the oh-so-solid wall, causing the younger to wince in pain.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" He heard Jim growl, though very quietly, unwilling to give up their current location just yet. "Get the hell off of him."

"Hey," He heard Dean's voice snap. "Back off old man."

Sam struggled from underneath his brother's weight, still unsure why he was shoved up against a wall in the first place. Dean didn't budge. Sam tried once more, but already knew it was a lost cause. He was too tired to walk by himself, let alone try to fight Dean. Once he had stilled, Sam felt Dean tug on his wrist and start rubbing it furiously with his thumb.

This time Sam did yelp. As if his wrists hadn't gone through enough abuse with the handcuffs. . .

But just as quickly as this whole scenario had started, it ended. Dean pushed away from him, Jim pushed him farther away from Sam, and Sam slid to the floor sucking in deep breaths, realizing just then how little air he was getting when Dean had him pinned. For a moment the three of them remained in their respective spots, but Sam finally broke the silence. "Dude, what the hell?"

"Come on Sambo, we need to get you to your brother now."

"What?" Sam was confused until he looked closer at Dean. And then: "You again?"

**- - -supernatural- - -**

John didn't have to push the mop very far. Thankfully Dean hadn't tried to follow him. Damn idiot didn't have a clue as to what was really going on. Not that he didn't mind working with Dean. Actually it kind of reminded him of the days back when he hunted for fun. And if it was any other circumstance than the present one, he felt he and himself could have been friends.

But back to the point. He didn't have very far to go. Just a couple of turns down the hall and he was face to face with none other than the elusive Sam Winchester. Okay, so he an entire hall's length away from him. The phrase wasn't exactly literal. . .

"Dean?"

John had to force himself from doing a congratulatory fist pump at his good luck. But just as he felt proud, he felt suspicion. There was no time to lose. Flashbacks of his past experiences with Samuel taught him that. Running forward at full speed, John readied himself to tackle the young brunet. No way was he giving that little beast enough time to do some damage. He couldn't afford to trust him. Not until he knew if the kid wasn't Samuel that is. He charged.

"Dea-"

John didn't give him time to finish as he grabbed Sam's arm, jerked it behind him and slammed him into the nearest wall. He heard the small thud the action made, causing John to silently match the younger's wince. If this wasn't Samuel, he didn't really want to hurt him any further. Not while Dean was still threatening to stick a tree up his ass anyway. . .

He hadn't really noticed the man Sam was with until he started yelling at him. "Hey, what the hell are you doing? Get the hell off of him." Boy that was annoying. And honestly, he was a little busy trying to decide if this Sam was going to go all homicidal on them, so he snapped.

"Hey, back off old man." He snarled, causing the man to back up a pace.

Not wanting to waste any more time, John pressed harder against Sam till the kid stopped struggling underneath him. Searching for the brunet's wrist with his hand, John frowned when he saw the raw marks around them. Handcuffs, he knew, having suffered the effects of the devices before. He didn't let down his guard though. Without warning or ideas to make this less painful for the hunter, John pushed his thumb against the skin, rubbing roughly.

Sam cursed softly, but he didn't let up the assault till he was sure there was no way he could be hiding a tattoo.

Without words, John stepped away, letting the old man push him farther, while Sam slid down to the floor, breathing in deeply. The no longer eyepatched double felt a sharp pang of guilt when he realized Sam probably couldn't breathe half the time he was pinned.

"Dude, what the hell?" Sam rasped.

John held out his hand. "Come on Sambo, we need to get you to your brother now."

"What?. . ." He watched as Sam's eyes first looked bewildered and then widened, looking even more confused. "You again?"

John narrowed his eyes. Looked like Sammy remembered him alright. "We need to go."

Sam still looked a little dazed and suspicious as he helped him up. The older man glared at John, but John continued to ignore his presence. "You alright, kid?" The man asked Sam.

Sam laughed weakly. "Yeah, Jim, I'm okay. But, um, _Dean_ is right. We need to get out of here."

John nodded, recognizing and silently thanking Sam for the play-along. "Can you walk?"

Sam grimaced but nodded. "Yeah."

"Then let's go."

"You first." Sam motioned, letting him know that what happened at the warehouse had not even been close to being forgotten.

**- - -supernatural- - -**

"Damn. Just damn, Dean. What were you thinking? Sam where the hell are you?" Dean grumbled his way down the winding halls, not really watching where he was going. Not that it mattered, he reasoned. It's not like he knew where he was supposed to go anyway.

"Dean?"

Dean froze. That sounded like. . .

"Sam?"

He turned around just in time to see his brother shutting an office door behind him while stepping out into the hallway. He was smiling. "Dean, what are you doing here?"

"Doing here?" Dean was incredulous. "I'm here for you."

Sam walked a little closer. "Glad you made it."

Dean frowned. Sam sounded different. Sure, his words were close enough to something Sam might say, but the way he was saying them was off. There was also something in his eyes that Dean couldn't place. Sam, however didn't seem to sense his discomfort and kept coming closer, hand dragging lazily on the side of the wall.

Hand!

Dean felt his insides go cold when he glanced at Sam's hand. Dark red stains were crusted on his fingers and palm creating a small trail of what appeared to be dried blood leading up to the dark tattoo wrapped around his also bloodied wrist. Sam watched Dean's eyes and smiled cruelly.

"Dean? You okay?"

"You're not Sam." Dean's hand went straight inside his jacket, pulling out a decent sized knife. He would have rather gone for his gun, but he couldn't afford to create a bigger ruckus than was necessary just yet. Not while he was still in here anyway. Going to prison for life was not his idea of a good time especially since he had an entire list of demons wanting his head. His heart. His internal organs. . . His soul.

Of course that could only happen if he got out of here, and right now Samuel was in his way.

"Put the knife away." Samuel said coolly.

"No." Dean said stubbornly.

"Dean." His voice seemed to echo inside of Dean's head for a moment. "Put the knife down."

Dean looked down as he felt a tug on the knife before it flew from his hand and embedded itself in the wall next to Samuel's head. Samuel didn't flinch, instead raising an eyebrow and smirked as Dean stared blankly from his hand to the wall. "What's wrong? Didn't mean to let go?" He grabbed the knife by it's hilt and pulled it from the wall, flipping it absently. "Hey, this is one of your favorite knives, isn't it?" With a loud crunching sound, Samuel snapped the weapon in two, leaving the blade and hilt separated as they dropped to the ground, making a clattering on impact.

"Son of a bitch." Dean glared at his brother's double.

Samuel frowned. "You're talking about your own mama there, Deano. Sure you want to be talking about her like that?"

"I'm gonna kill you."

"You say that." Samuel said lightly. "But I'd really like to see you try."

Dean didn't even have a chance to retort before Samuel make a flicking motion with his wrist and he found himself flying across the hall and into the farthest wall, slumping quickly into unconsciousness.

- - -five minutes later- - -

Dean stirred from his short lived coma rubbing his head. Damn walls.

Why was it that whenever he and Sam fought against evil beings and creatures they always went for Sam's throat and always threw him into walls? And as much as he didn't envy his brother for the whole throat fixation thing, wall smacking wasn't exactly getting hit in the face with a feather pillow.

Dean slowly sat up and glanced around. He couldn't have been out for too long seeing as he wasn't in handcuffs and his now broken knife was still lying exactly where Samuel dropped it.

Oh the bastard was going to pay for that.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief that at least it hadn't been his bowie knife. There would have been more than hell to pay if _that_ had been damaged.

"Yo, Dean."

Dean swivelled around recognizing his double's voice. Sure enough, there stood John in all his look alike glory. "Hey," He forced a smirk. "Blackbeard."

"Damn pirate." John mumbled, pulling off his ball cap and running his fingers through his hair, at the same time reaching into his pocket and pulling out his infamous eyepatch. Just as he finished with the clasp, he glanced at Dean and sighed. "Oh yeah, anyway, thought you should know I found your whiny, snot-nosed, punk giant brother."

"What?" Dean stopped dead in his tracks. "Wait, you found Sam?"

"You know of another whiny, snot-nosed, punk giant brother we were here to find?" John snarked.

"Uh, no- wha?" Dean was speechless. Even more so when Sam actually appeared.

He was leaning heavily against the wall, and his hair had fallen into his face, covering his eyes in a blanket of brown strands, but he was standing, and there were no visible red stains on his white t-shirt which was definitely a good sign in Dean's mind.

"Sam?"

Sam pushed away at his thick bangs, unable to stop his lips from tugging up into a small smile. "Hey Dean."

For a moment the three of them plus Jim just stood there, looking from one to the other in silent wondering and disbelief till Sam let out what sounded like a strangled laugh and walked forward catching his brother in a rough but uncomfortably genuine hug.

The moment was brief but it was all the two of them needed to know that the other was okay and just as relieved at the discovery of each other as he himself was.

Dean pulled back first and checked the younger over before cracking a small smirk. "You, uh, you have a beard, man."

Sam ducked his head and rolled his eyes. "It's just some scruff."

"You look like a caveman."

"And you look like shit." He shot back.

Dean grinned widely. "Looks like Hendrickson didn't beat the fight outta you."

Sam's gaze darkened slightly before his stare shifted toward the double standing next to his brother. "No, Hendricksondidn't."

John knew exactly what and who Sam was referring to and had the decency to look at least half way to remorseful. "One freaking mistake." He muttered.

"Since when was stabbing a guy in the bathroom, stalking him, and then beating him with the intent to kill a 'mistake'?" Sam growled, annoyed that somehow Dean had found himself standing protectively between him and the sandy-haired doppelgänger.

"I don't know what you're talking about, a bathroom." The double argued, _thankful_ that Dean was between him and the glaring giant of a Sam. "What kind of a reason would I have for doing that?"

"Oh, you mean you had a reason for the rest." Sam snorted humorlessly, balling his hands into fists. "And don't think for a second I'm going to believe your shit. I don't know what you told Dean, or how you convinced him to tag team with you but I think you better get your ass out of here before I decide to return all the favors."

Dean, listening to the angry/defensive exchange, was getting antsy, remembering where they were and who was probably still around. Raising his hand, the hunter whispered harshly. "Sam, unless they were letting you go on goodwill and decided that they were done gunning for me, then we really need to get out of here."

Sam tore his gaze from John and blinked at Dean, nodding. "Yeah, okay."

Dean was surprised at the instant back-down, but was too glad to be talking to his brother to care. That's when he noticed Jim. "Who the hell are you?"

"Jim." Sam spoke up. "He's the one who's been helping me get out of here."

Dean frowned suspiciously. "You're an agent?"

"Probably not after this." Jim remarked.

Dean snorted. "Fair enough. So that means you know fastest way out of here?"

"Yes."

"Good." The older blond brushed past the agent, not seeing Sam crouch down and pick up his knife's remains.

"Dean? What happened to your knife?"

"Oh, you know," Dean paused, mind spinning for an excuse. "Sat on it."

Sam's eyebrows shot up.

The voice in Dean's head rolled it's figurative eyes, mocking._ Sat on it? Nice one Dean. . ._

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, alright." He stood back up, shoving the decorative hilt into his pocket and flipping the unsharpened side of the blade tightly in his palm. He nodded to Dean, pushing past John roughly to get back to Jim. "Which way?"

"Whoah, you shouldn't be holding that." John suddenly blurted, tilting his head toward the broken weapon with a vast frown, eyebrows quirked.

"What why?" Dean asked, eyes immediately scanning his brother again for something he might have missed before.

Jim sighed. "He took a heavy blow to the head earlier. . ."

"What?" Dean stepped menacingly toward his doppelgänger. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Both Sam and John exclaimed, exasperated.

John lifted his hands and matched Dean's steps except backwards. "No, no. I mean his wrist." He stalked forward and grabbed onto Sam's wrist for the second time in the last ten minutes, positioning himself so the tall brunet couldn't stab him with the sharp weapon. "You shouldn't have been able to pick up the damn knife, let alone flip it like a pro."

"What are you talking about?" Dean said lowly.

"Get off me." Sam wrenched his hand out of John's grasp, gripping the knife a little tighter.

"Back at the warehouse. During our little. . . skirmish-"

Sam snorted behind him.

John whirled around on him and stalked forward till the two of them were toe to toe. "You knocked me out with an already injured hand. I heard bones crack before I went unconscious, and you're trying to tell me that somehow both your hand and wrist magically didn't break? They should at least be sprained. A broken finger maybe."

Sam didn't appreciate being yelled at. "Well obviously I didn't hit you hard enough, cause you're still here talking."

Dean literally jumped in between the two angry men as soon as it looked like John was about to punch his brother. "Hey, cool it guys." He pushed John back and kept a steadying hand against Sam's chest. "I don't know what is going on here, but like I said: we need to get the hell out of here. You can beat each other up once we're out."

"Are you crazy?" John hissed. "He might not be your brother."

"You're the one who found him!" Dean practically yelled, casting a glance to both of Sam's wrists. "I don't see a tat."

"That doesn't prove anything."

"You're right." A voice called out from behind them. "But maybe this does."

Sam spun a fraction of a second before the rest, an egg sized lump settling in his stomach and throat at what he saw.

Samuel stood at the end of the hall blocking their escape, grinning like a mad cheshire cat, the form of a smaller woman laying limp in his strong arms.

"Tara." Both Sam and Dean said at the same time.

"Aren't family reunions the best?" Samuel asked. "I mean, I heard they were great but this a killer, don't you think?"

**- -supernatural- -**

**A/N:** So, you likee?- eek! ducks away from various thrown vegetables Yes, I know it's a cliffhanger, but seriously, if you managed to read this far you should really be used to that by now. sees the tomato flying and dodges Oh come on, you should happy! We're well on our way to burning down the cursed FBI building and Samuel is EVIL! That's right. I used the 'e' word. It's final too. (I swear when this story finishes I'll have to go back and do a re-write, or write a doppelganger revisited maybe. . .)

I realize this was more of a fill in chapter (even with the reunion), but it was necessary so we could get on with the _actual_ story. Also, if my fingers will quit writing all this in between nonsense and just get out of the building, this particular story will be finished soon. (crap, I probably just jinxed myself)

I know you're probably tired of my asking for reviews (twenty-three chapters and counting) but honestly, why stop now? Your reviews are like a cool breeze on scorching summer day. Thank you everyone. (yes, I mean _you_) Even if you're not reviewing, thank you bunches for bothering to read this. I can feel your unannounced support from here. send boxes of virtual cookies to all

Your building burning writer friend- Kerri B.


	25. Chapter 24

**Beginning notes: **slaps foreheadI don't why I didn't think of this sooner, but in order to keep any more confusion (mine mostly- ) about this whole 'John' thing to a minimum, I'm going to spell it a different way. From here on out, Eyepatch!Dean is Jon. Now all I have to do is go back and edit. . . grumbles incoherently

Also, this story is strictly season two between the episodes 'Nightshifter' and 'BUABS'. Is it sad and slightly pathetic that I was trying to finish this before season three began?

My unofficial beta once again did not have time to proofread this before posting, so every mistake remaining is mine. Oh, and this chapter is pretty intense. A bit more gore and thoughts alluding to disturbing subject matter and violence. My sister said I write Evil!Samuel a little too well. . .

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Buried Thoughts**

_Earlier In Hendrickson's Office:_

Samuel inwardly scoffed at the two men he was sharing office space with as they watched the tv screen like there was something on there that would help them. Idiots. Wasting their time watching an old video instead of actually searching for their escapee. He was especially annoyed at the agent who brought in said video. Daniel, he was pretty sure was his name.

He rolled his eyes with obvious disgust as Daniel rubbed the side of his head when on screen another agent rushed forward and struck him with a small cup of water, letting the shattered glass fall to the floor. Samuel felt a small tugging on his lips as he envisioned the much worse things he could do to the spineless Daniel. Ooh, spineless. That sounded like fun.

"That's it? Hendrickson interrupted his gleeful thoughts as the tape ended.

"Yeah." Daniel nodded. "I know it's not much, but at the very least it's enough to prosecute Jim with. Weird though, huh?"

Samuel now visualized beating the life out of him. He'd have to cut out his tongue first though. If the voice grated on his nerves now imagine what it would be like when he screamed. . .

Neither man seemed to suspect his inner thoughts though as Victor agreed, looking over to Samuel. "Especially that part about you Sammy, right? Doppelgängers? He really has lost it."

Samuel's lips tightened as he felt a bubbling anger and pressure building inside of him. It wasn't the blatant disregard for doppelgangers or the fact that the black agent was intentionally bating him that caused Samuel's anger to spike though, but the name he called him. Sammy. One word- one name. His pet name. But nobody called him that anymore. Nobody but his father, and his father never used it unless he really wanted him to do something for him.

This was a sign.

'_Alright father, I understand.'_

Azazel would be so proud.

Slowly, his lips twisted up into a dark smirk and carefully, discreetly he pulled his sleeve down to hide the slowly brightening glow of his blue aflame tattoo.

"Daniel. . ." He said softly, almost seductively. "Does your head still hurt? Let me see it. . ."

**- - -supernatural- - -**

_Now:_

Samuel stood, hands still bloodied, grinning like a mad cheshire cat with the form of a smaller woman laying limp in his strong arms. "Aren't family reunions the best?" He asked. "I mean, I heard they were great but this a killer, don't you think?"

Sam held the blade of Dean's broken knife behind his back, gripping it tightly.

Samuel gently lay Tara to the ground. "You know, I was just on my way out of here when I remembered that I forgot something."

"Your sanity?" Jon suggested, hand clenched into tight fists.

"Funny." Samuel deadpanned. "But no. I was thinking of something a little more tangible."

Dean's body stance instantly shifted into defensive when he saw the excited gleam in his brother's double's eyes, but he was too late to stop Samuel's intentions. He watched with certain amount of fury and helplessness as Sam's feet were knocked out from under him by an unseen source before being pulled forward through the air and pinned to a far wall. The blade he once held had fallen back to the ground, but for only a moment before Jon scooped it up.

It seemed that Jim had taken the initiative while Samuel's attention was diverted and was slowly inching his way over to where Tara was laying still. His gun was drawn though he seemed reluctant to use it. Truth be told, Dean was more than a little surprised that they hadn't been found yet. Damn FBI. Always popping up at the most inconvenient times and then disappearing when you actually needed them.

Jon nudged his shoulder, indicating that he was ready to fight, which was good because they didn't have a moment to lose. Sam was still fixed against the wall and Samuel was quickly closing the distance between them, causing the hairs on the back of Dean's neck to rise. Signaling to Jon, both of them ran forward. . . only to find themselves looking up at the ceiling from the flat of their backs.

"What the hell?" Dean growled, jumping back up and pushing forward again. But he went nowhere. It felt like he was hitting a brick wall but as far as he could see, there was nothing between himself and getting to Sam. It only took him a second to realize that this was another of Samuel's tricks.

An invisible wall. Clever.

Dean pounded against it. "Why are you doing this?"

Samuel turned on Dean with a look that almost resembled regret. Almost. "You know Dean, it wasn't supposed to be this way. Hell, you weren't even supposed to know I was here."

Dean was relieved when the double stepped away from his brother though it didn't look like Sam was coming off that wall anytime soon.

"And you know what?" Samuel gave an ironic laugh. "I'd bet you anything that this all would have worked too if I had just managed to keep a hold of my powers a little sooner. That's what I get though for assuming Dani was stronger than she was."

At the mention of the deceased fellow hunter, Dean slammed his fist against the wall, angry that Samuel didn't even flinch at the motion. "What did you do to her?"

Samuel's eyebrows shot up. "What are you, a moron? I killed her. You know what killed means, right?" His words were taunting and intentionally cruel. "Let me give it to you slow. I stuck her like pig before I plucked and dragged every single thought she'd ever had from her mind till she screamed for me to stop. And you know what I did?" He licked his lips viciously, causing Dean's eyes to narrow. "I took more. I kept going and taking until there was nothing left but an empty headed blond. You want to hear the best part?"

Dean didn't.

"The best part is that she isn't dead."

Dean's head jerked up. "What- no. It was in the papers. The police found her- the coroner confirmed her death. Y- you just said you killed her."

Samuel clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Yeah, I said I killed her. I didn't say she was _dead_. Big difference. Besides, you believe everything you read in the papers? You of all people should know that just because they have no pulse or heartbeat doesn't mean they're dead. No, your hunter friend was quite alive. Still is, probably." He mused. "It must have been scary for her, listening to all those people telling her that she was dead while she lay there trying to scream- trying to whisper- trying to breathe."

"Stop it." Dean took a step back, not wanting to hear any more.

"She knew exactly what was happening as they lowered her into a casket, closed the lid and buried her. Too bad her family was put in charge of funeral services. If only she had put hunters in charge, they would have at least salted and burned her, sending our dear Danielle to the 'Great Punchline' instead of dooming her to an eternity of dark, stifling loneliness."

Samuel tapped against the other side of his wall, leering at the now nauseous Dean. "I'll bet you thought I ran out of surprises, huh? Wrong again! There is so much more."

Dean wasn't sure he could take any more surprises. He had just learned that one of his friends was currently buried alive, what more could Samuel have done to make him hate him more?

The grinning brunet waved his hand dismissively. "Okay, so I lied before. That wasn't the best part. But guess what is."

Dean slowly raised his eyes till they were locked with Samuel's.

"I was going to bury Sam alive too."

Dean froze as those words sunk in. _Bury Sam alive. . ._

"I was going to find him, pull all his memories like I did with that blond slut, bury him. . ." He paused. "And then I was going to take his place, leaving you, Dean, never being the wiser."

He was now leaning his full weight against the wall, unsure whether he was about to throw up or just stand there in stunned silence. Dean chose neither, needing one final question to be answered. "But. . . why?"

"Why?" Samuel was incredulous. "Because my life was such a literal hell that I could taste the sulphur is why. Because I found a way for me to have a second chance and I took it. Why do you think I tried so hard to make you believe I was your brother for so long? You think I _wanted_ to live somebody else's life?" He began to pace. "But now I see that there is no redemption. No second chances. There's only the life we were meant to live and there's no turning back. So here's me Dean. The real me. I don't need you anymore." He turned his back and started to walk away. "And neither does Sam."

Dean snapped out of his information overloaded daze as he realized Samuel was heading back to his brother. "Sam! Sam!"

--

Walls weren't exactly a novelty to Sam, but that didn't make them hurt any less. Of course, hitting walls was much better than getting choked, hands down. Still, it was definitely worrisome when instead of sliding back down to the floor where he could prepare for another attack he remained pinned to the vertical surface.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that it was Samuel holding him there, especially when he stepped up to examine his handiwork. "Well, well." The double murmured. "Looks like you're in a real predicament there buddy."

For a moment he thought he heard Dean yelling, but the deafening buzz in his head drowned it out.

Sam didn't bother using his strength trying to free himself. He knew he was going to need that for later. Thankfully the tingling in his neck had stopped, but it seemed that it had been replaced by a dull burning in the pit of his stomach.

Samuel leaned in closely till the pinned brother could feel his hot breath searing across his face. "You know, Sam. You and me aren't so different."

Sam grimaced as that dull burning in his stomach rapidly traveled up to the back of his head and instantly changed to a sharp throbbing.

"Maybe you should come with me. I've got a feeling your talents will be more appreciated away from here."

God, his head felt like it was on fire. He wanted it to stop. He needed release.

"We could leave here you know. Get out while we still can. Find freedom and live out our every desires like we deserve. You want that don't you? Don't you want that release?" Samuel asked softly, every word even more alluring then the last.

Sam did want that. He wanted that liberty, that. . . _release_. Oh, god he needed the inferno inside him to be set free. But not just free. He had flames within him and felt more anger than he'd felt in a long time, causing his heart to beat faster and his breaths to become more ragged. The pain was past the point of excruciating as raw energy sparked and flared throughout his entire being, blinding in it's intensity. Sam could feel the boiling pressure beginning to creep up behind his eyes, but Samuel didn't seem to notice.

"Me and you Sammy. We could do amazing things. Together, we'd be unstoppable. We'd be like brother's."

Sam snapped, the fires within bursting, reflected in his once hazel eyes. _What's happening? _His mind screamed, but the internal roaring buried it in its assault. Samuel never stood a chance. Their eyes locked and Sam felt his rage swell past the point of control.

"ENOUGH!" He screamed so loudly that Samuel heard it echo inside his head before he was picked up like a limp rag doll and thrown far enough down the hallway that neither Dean or Jon could see him, even as they heard the distant thud of contact.

Dean pitched forward, the invisible wall crumbling into nonexistence once Samuel had been thrown. He scrambled back up to his feet, eyes transfixed on his younger brother who remained completely rigid and unmoving. "Sam?" He asked cautiously. "Sammy?"

"Cristo." Dean didn't have time to comprehend the meaning of Jon's words before his brother's still form flinched.

"Sam?" He asked again, inching forwards.

Sam turned to face him, his eyes glistening. . . but then they weren't his eyes anymore. Their usual color now masked by a dark oily black only contrasted by the bright crimson flecks floating around in some kind of frenzied dance. His lip was curled into a relaxed smirk at Dean's face before turning his attention back to the fallen Samuel.

Dean stumbled back a step, the sight too disturbing to believe.

And then Sam opened his mouth to speak. But as he spoke, it seemed another voice echoed. Two voices, Dean counted. The first being his brother's but the second was much quieter. No more than a whisper.

"I already have a brother."

The second, whispering voice spoke in Latin.

Dean's mouth dropped open in silent horror as his greatest fear began to play out before him.

"Sammy." Dean ripped his gaze from Sam, realizing that Samuel was back and standing not too far from his now crouching brother. "Finally showing your true colors? I knew that weak little human thing was just an act."

Sam glared at his smirking double, the fire inside feeling no more smoldered. If anything it felt like somebody threw more logs into the furnace. He was losing control and he knew it wouldn't be long before he completely succumbed to the urges within. "What's happening?"

"As if you didn't know." Samuel grinned. "You're free. You've finally let your powers manifest." The smile on his face was a stark contrast to the darkness in his eyes. "You know what this means right?"

Powers manifest? What had Samuel said about his powers before? _We absorb peoples powers. Though not by touch. Mainly it's judged by proximity. Somebody has telekinesis, we can use telekinesis. Telepath? You can start reading minds_.

_When you absorb a special kid's power, you don't get it to the strength they do. If he could control people with voice or mind alone, the best you could do was use their power to make yourself immune._

_So you're saying that when I'm around special children, I get a little piece of their powers. Basically, enough to keep me alive?_

_Samuel nodded. Yeah. Looks like you got it._

Now it was Sam's turn to smirk. "Yeah, I know what it means. Do you?"

And Samuel found himself flying yet again.

Samuel pushed himself off the ground, eyes flaring to an identical black and red. "Not exactly what I had in mind, but plans change."

Jon made a flying dive over to his duffel, pulling out a handled knife and tossing Dean one as well. Dean caught it preparing to stand next to his brother- possessed or not, when Sam's voice rang out, the Latin whisper now gone. "Dean, go."

Dean paused, assessing the scene before him. Samuel and his brother standing rigid as they faced each other, Jon standing behind him, weapons in hand, and Jim had disappeared down the halls and corners with Tara; probably to get help. No way was he leaving his brother. "What? No!"

"Dean!" Dean swore he heard an echo in his head. "Leave."

As if by magic a strong force of wind tunneled through the hall, whipping around the sandy haired hunter, pushing him away from Sam. Jon seemed to be caught in the same gale. For a minute they struggled against it, till it pushed them around the corner and Jon tugged on Dean's sleeve. "It's your brother. He's pushing us to the exit."

"But I need to go back." Dean argued.

"No," Jon insisted. "We need to get armed. Just go with it until we can get our guns, then we'll come back."

Dean hesitated but knew there was no way he push his way back to Sam and help him without some kind of gun to help. He nodded his acceptance of the plan just as a final gust of wind pushed them down the final hallway and into the main lobby, before it stopped altogether causing both men to fall over- Jon straight backwards and Dean off to the side.

Groaning, Dean pushed himself up on his knees behind the information desk. That's when he realized what he landed next to. Vacant brown eyes stared up at him from the horror stricken face of the receptionist laying bleeding on the hard floor.

"Ah!" Dean scrambled away, crab-walking out from behind the desk only to become conscious of how much safer and more pleasant it was behind it.

"What the-. . ." He heard Jon breathe.

Strewn all around the large lobby were the bodies of agents, all of them laying in the now single puddle of sticky blood. Their stares were blank and every face was contorted in looks of disbelief and terror. Many had guns sitting limply next to their hands. The blood was everywhere. Staining the walls and spattered against the doors and windows in what could be considered as some sick form of red splatter art.

Dean couldn't pull his eyes away from the mass slaughter, even as the sickening smell of copper infiltrated his nose. But it wasn't just copper. . . there was, sulphur?

Jon made his way over to the receptionist, noticing the long tears ripping through her clothes and digging into her skin. He quickly confirmed that every agent, man and woman alike all were mutilated in the same fashion, some to point of being mauled. The evidence pointed to one thing, though he hoped beyond hope that he was wrong. "Hellhounds."

The low growl from behind a far away pillar confirmed it.

Dean took a nervous step back as a large black german shepherd padded silently into their view, teeth bared, hackles raised and ears laid back aggressively, eyes shining a piercing red. It's paws and snout were stained crimson along with other splotches of the viscous liquid dotting it's smooth fur. He had only known of the invisible hellhounds who dragged people down to Hell after their deals were done, but this was completely different. Drops of saliva and blood dripped down to the floor beneath it, creating mini pink puddles, announcing to Dean just how bloodthirsty the creature currently was. He tensed up, not sure what he could do to stop his impending disembowelment.

Jon seemed a bit more relaxed however at the sudden appearance of the growling dog. "Good. He's corporeal."

"Good? How is this good?" Dean asked quietly, not wanting to make the animal strike.

"Well," Jon shrugged, slowly tightening his grip on the knife. "At least there's only one."

He spoke too soon.

**- - -supernatural- - -**

**A/N: **It's attack of the evil cliffies! (ducks) Okay, seriously people, where are you getting all those vegetables? You've been saving them for this haven't you? Well it doesn't matter, I'm not going back to un-cliffhanger it so you can just be patient. (Or complain venomously in your reviews. Doesn't really matter which.)

But about the actual story, I hope you're enjoying this part as much as I am. If you were unsure what was going on with Sammy, then here's a bit of an explanation. He was absorbing things coming from Samuel. So now he has a bit of Samuel in him. Pretty simple huh! And it's about stinking time I added some kick-ass evil creatures, don't you think? I guess hellhounds might sound a little extreme, but possessed squirrels just sounded ridiculous! ;)

Alright guys, you know what's next. It's that time of the day where people around the globe press that little button called 'review' and leave words of encouragement, praise, and adoration! If any of these describe how you feel about me and/or my story, please drop me a line. Hope to hear from you all.

Your evil writer friend - Kerri


End file.
